


Forever Young

by WeirdChick333



Category: Alex Turner - Fandom, Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets, Miles Kane - Fandom, Miles Kane Alex Turner, Milex - Fandom
Genre: Break Up, Falling In Love, Flashbacks, High School, Idiots in Love, Love, M/M, Rock Stars, milex - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 92,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28528812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdChick333/pseuds/WeirdChick333
Summary: It started out innocently enough all those years ago, in the summer of 2002. Miles was the new kid in school and Alex was teen royalty. They became friends. Best friends. They shared everything. Until, in November 2003, Miles ran away and never said goodbye.Fourteen years later, Alex is still angry. He wouldn't mind staying that way, either. But fate and Matt Helders decide to get involved.Drawing in a shaky breath, Miles’ lips twitched into the saddest smile Alex had ever seen. “The kind of dreams you made me dream, you don’t dream ‘em at seventeen."
Relationships: Miles Kane & Alex Turner, Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Comments: 68
Kudos: 130





	1. Angel

**#Miles**

**#London, January 2018**  
  


_Spend all your time waiting_

_For that second chance_

_For a break that would make it okay…_

Miles had heard the song before. Of course, he had. It had been huge once upon a time. Long ago. He couldn’t remember the precise time. Of when he’d heard it first or last, or of when it had been a hit. But he knew it, that’s what mattered. The lyrics were familiar in that odd way in which you could not recite the words by heart but sing along perfectly once the tune started on the radio or somewhere. It was a simple one. Soft and delicate, without losing any of its imposing qualities. It was a quiet tune, carrying a profound message. But because it was not one of grand orchestral background, of fireworks or drums hit with vigor, it contained its very own unique potency.

Sometimes, it were the simple things in life that became big memories. Just as the song whispered itself into one’s remembrance, at times it were the small occurrences in life that set the course for the greatest destinations. Or left the deepest cutting wounds.

Sadness gripped his chest with an iron first as he stared with spellbound fascination at the singer on stage. There, in front, on a platform too large for most people yet barely big enough for him, was a man fighting and failing to pour his heart into this performance.

He just couldn’t do it.

Nobody else noticed. Everyone was enchanted.

As Miles stood in the back row of a massive arena, wearing all black – his favorite color these days – hiding in plain sight, he tugged his cap further into his face and shielded the pain he feared was far too visible. He felt for him, for the singer on stage. For the one that used to be his friend a long, long time ago.

It wasn’t his night.

Thing after thing had gone wrong. One of the guitars had been out of tune, throwing him off at the very beginning and by that setting the tilted tone for the rest of the night. He’d taken it with humor and cracked a joke. He usually did that when he stumbled. The massive crowd of adoring fans had giggled to the crooked sounds of his faded _Fender_. If only it had ended after that. At some point, the mic had cut out. A chord had been carelessly placed and he’d tumbled when getting caught in it with his food. Something was going on between him and the rest of his band – best friends, all of them – and the upbeat banter that made for perfect background entertainment on other show nights refused to spark tonight. The overall mood seemed glum.

Miles mulled over what might have happened. He yearned to ask him, the singer, his former friend. He yearned to reach out, physically and emotionally, maybe offer an ear and a pair of wide-open arms. But these days, as for many days now, his arms were no longer the singer’s to slip into. Weighed down by past mistakes and questionable decisions, Miles’ arms hung motionless by his side while every arm around him was stretched high and far, holding up lighters and cellphone flashlights to set the scene.

One of his friends nudged his shoulder, vying for the attention Miles was busy giving somebody else. Bothered, forced to scrape a bare amount of it away from the stage, he turned to his side. Just barely. But they were friends after all. Somewhat. “Yes?”

The friend, unaware of how little Miles cared to hear him speak at the moment, gripped his arm and motioned for the VIP gallery above them. “They have a fucking bar up there. Food, drinks, all that shit! Why aren’t we up there?!”

“I came to see the show.” He’d come to see the singer. Now, he wished he’d have come alone. Free of distractions. “Go there,” he told his friend, effectively dismissing him. Nothing up there held any interest to him. Not the food, not the drinks, and certainly not the scrutiny he’d suffer above. The gallery was for those who wanted to be noticed. He’d come to listen. Nothing more, nothing less. And he preferred doing it alone, as he usually did. That made it easier to focus on _him_ and ignore everything else.

This was one of the last shows they’d play. Here, in London, the tour would part from Britain, hop across the pond, interlude in Amsterdam, then die its deserved death in Paris underneath a starry night filled with fireworks. That was the plan. The drummer of the band, Matt, and old friend, a real friend, had told him. He’d invited him to come and watch.

Miles would be there. He’d seen almost all shows for the past few years. Those played in Europe, at least. Those that had been accessible. He’d flown to New York once. Nobody knew. And Moscow, a long time ago. It wasn’t a secret. However, his friends didn’t understand it. And Matt and the others…it was better for them not to know. It was best for the singer not to know.

He’d come to Paris on his own dime. Stay in a hotel away from them. Hide in the stands, far from his fellow musicians and glitterati acquaintances. He’d show up for the music, as he always did, and not for the event. He’d go to see him. Because, even after fifteen years of silence, he still couldn’t let him go.

_From this dark cold hotel room_

_And the endlessness that you fear_

_You’re pulled from the wreckage_

_Of your silent reverie…_

The song drew to a close.

What an odd one to play for a group of rock musicians, and yet, Miles was hardly surprised. The singer, his former friend, the one that gotten away, had always loved a good challenge and what better way to demonstrate his talent than turning a powerful pop ballad into a show-stopping rock cover complete with drums, bass, and two electrics without stealing the song any of its sedate charm.

It made him chuckle.

Smug bastard that he was, the singer, he commanded the stage with closed eyes and distant grins. As though he was lost in his own private joke, unaware that ten thousand people had an estimated twenty thousand eyes aimed his way. And he was smiling, now. The words demanded somber expressions, the notions the lyrics portrayed were deft and serious. A heavy song, a sad one, too. But sadness and seriousness were no emotions for him. When he tried to treat a word with the reverence it deserved, it was a surefire way for him to crack up and fall victim to inappropriate giggles. Miles knew better, though, than to think the man on stage was enjoying himself. Far from that. He was pissed off. He wanted to be raw. He wanted to be grave. He wanted to sing the song the way it earned to be sung. He was smirking to mask his frustration, pretending to be amused when he was irate on the inside.

His inner turmoil had always been strong. Two sides at constant war. His light, breezy, carefree side didn’t allow him to portray the deep expressions and stripped emotions that his perpetually overwrought head craved to put on paper.

His former friend loved life. At least he used to, once upon a time. He had a good family, a happy upbringing. He had good friends, trusted colleagues, and solid relationships with people. The talent, the trust, the support, even the luck necessary to make it big. He had it all, in a sense. And he hated it. “Happy people don’t write gut-wrenching music,” he’d once lamented.

Miles felt lured closer to the stage and held back by the barriers that parted the better seats from the cheap stands. Like magnets drawn together, he still felt his pull. It was Miles’ fault that the singer was struggling. Maybe not tonight, but overall. He’d stolen that man’s faith in his own perception.

He’d taken away the one thing his former friend wanted and longed for more than anything else. Used to, at any rate.

Fourteen years, two months, and six days ago, Miles had packed up his feelings, stuffed them into his duffle next to some shirts and jeans, and he’d walked away from him in the middle of a cold, rainy night, bracketed by icy winds, and carried forth by train. And since that day, he’d made a name for himself as a rock star in his own right, he’d achieved success, had earned the respect of his peers, and he’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted. 

Everything, except one thing.

The price for it all had been excruciatingly expensive. He’d been forced to give up _him_. The singer. The lead of the band _Arctic Monkeys_. A band he used to play in as well. A lifetime ago.

“Aren’t you friends with the band?” Asked his friend next to him, not paying the performance the kind of due diligence it deserved. 

Miles gave a shrug of detachment. It was as rude as a response as he could give without actually coming across as an asshole. “I am.” He was friends with them, still. With three out for four, that was. “So?”

“We could be backstage!”

“Go there, if you want. Try your luck.”

“They’re not going to let _me_ in,” he whined.

He kept rambling on about missed opportunities and such, but Miles tuned him out. The cover had ended, the singer had taken his applause, the band had said goodbye, and they’d finish the show by playing one of their biggest hits. Some rock-bass-loud extravaganza. Something with little text and much flair. Something easy. 

The main star was powered out anyway. Miles could tell by the way he brushed his hair back, sweat-slicked that it was. His cheeks were flushed. Eyes dazed. Even his voice began to break. It hardly ever did that and it encouraged Miles in his assumption that something bigger was at play tonight. 

If only he knew what. 

Falling back into old patterns, Miles’ first instinct was to be concerned. Drawn towards him by his urge to know, to care, to figure out the problem and help him solve it, he realized his feet had carried him two steps closer to the stage. He froze, then, when he became aware.

He couldn’t go there. He had no right to worry. That belonged to others, now. To friends. To lovers. To people the singer cared about.

He no longer cared about Miles. A scathing rendition from about a decade ago had made that clear. And he hadn’t even bothered writing the song himself. He’d covered _Bob Dylan’s ‘Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright’_.

Even to this day, Miles could still feel the icy shivers crawling up his spine like a killer’s hand playing with his prey upon hearing the first chords being strummed on stage. Back then, somebody had told the singer that he’d be in the audience that day. As Miles had rested his arms on the banister in front of him, settling in for what he’d believed would be a forever stellar show, he’d watched him grab the mic, clear his throat, and declare to the world that, “Somebody broke my heart once. Only one ever did. This one’s for you. I know you’re here tonight.”

Miles swallowed hard at the memory, even now. The last lyric echoed through his mind. It had been the only time the singer had managed to award gravity to a line. And it had cut deep.

_You just kind of wasted my precious time,_

_But don’t think twice, it’s alright_

Every idea of reaching out to him had died that day. That moment.

_“I had to go. I had my reasons. Maybe they aren’t good reasons, but….”_

Those were the first lines of a dozen letters that sat unfinished in a drawer in his apartment in London. Funny, that one. The city. They lived in the same borough, traveled in the same social circles, and knew almost all the same people. Yet, all those years had gone by, and they’d never once looked into each other’s eyes. Except for that one time. They’d never spoken. Never crossed paths. It was amazing what people could accomplish if only they put their hearts into it.

Inside Miles’ pocket, his phone vibrated. He didn’t hear the ringtone. The audience screamed too loud for that. Fishing the shaking device out and reading the text, he sighed with one part guilt and two parts irritation.

_‘Hey, got home early. Where are you?’_

Miles hesitated, unsure how to reply. He wasn’t here by himself. This wasn’t like most other times when he could hide and lie and pretend that he’d been out for a walk and nothing else.

 _‘Arctic Monkeys concert,’_ he texted back.

The reply came quickly. _‘Alex’s show? That’s the tenth or so show you’ve gone to.’_

It made him snort. Loudly. God, if only. He’d seen a hundred shows. More, possibly. But nobody knew. And his boyfriend wouldn’t care, either, if not for that unfortunate moment a few weeks ago, when he’d gone and cleared out some old boxes and discovered an old photograph of himself and the man on stage. His former friend. His soulmate. The first guy he’d ever kissed. The first man he’d ever loved. It was a picture of them amongst a group of people. They’d played some game that day, he didn’t remember the details. But he remembered the moment that followed the one caught on camera. When the others had left the scene, he’d slipped his hand into that of his, he’d smiled, and he’d told him a secret. “I think I’m in love with you,” he’d admitted with the naivety of a seventeen-year-old kid who thought that those words meant everything and nothing all at once.

“You think?” Alex Turner, rock star extraordinaire, adored singer, famously bi, and outrageously arrogant, had been nothing of that then. He’d been shy and he’d blushed. And he’d given Miles’ hand a squeeze. “I might think the same thing. But there’s a bunch of people nearby and I can’t kiss you now. Do you think you could still be in love with me tomorrow? I got the house to myself, then.” The color in his cheeks had intensified, as had the grip on his hand.

Miles had smiled. A brash one. Wide and filled with innocent, unscathed happiness. “Seems possible.”

“Perfect.”

Three months after that, Miles had packed his bags and never returned.

His boyfriend had walked in on him as he’d sat on the floor of his bedroom, lost in the haunting days of his past. He’d asked him who was in that picture. And Miles, distracted by days gone by, had told him the truth. “The one that got away.”

 _‘I’ll be home soon,’_ he typed back now as the final notes drifted from the all-surrounding speakers. _‘Show’s over.’_ He cut into his friend’s cheers. “Let’s go.”

“Oh my God, you’re Miles Kane!”

Miles rushed to cover more of his face with the cap, shaking his head hard at the stranger’s wide-eyed gape of shock. “No.” He altered his voice, lowered it, to sound far from the guy she’d recognized him as. “People always mistake me for him.” Giving his companion a stern look and a shove toward the stairs, he tried to get away.

“He is,” announced Tim, his friend, now his former friend, with a proud smile as if Miles being who he was made Tim more of anything. Tim stared, lacking all remorse. “What? You are Miles Kane!” Once again addressing the stranger, he smirked. “He is. Loves hiding among regular fans!”

“Shut the fuck up,” cursed Miles, giving up on his now useless cover and the phony act of caring for Tim, who technically wasn’t his friend, but his boyfriend’s friend, and who definitely would never join him on any kind of outing ever again. This time around, he didn’t wait for the idiot to move but tried to round him. High hopes crushed fast. Tim blocked his way, brows arched with self-satisfaction. “Should have gone up to the VIP section with me,” he quipped, finding the damned thing funny and nothing else.

A frenzy began to form around them. More and more people paid attention. The energy changed. Giddy screams filled the air. Bit by bit, it spread through the arena that Miles Kane, rock star, indie idol, and elusive singer of his own band had come to watch the _Arctic Monkeys_ from a shitty spot in the far back of the arena in the midst of regular people who neither had the money nor the connections to reach the front row or the VIP spots. Murmurs became calls that became shouts and applause and before long, it had reached the stage that at the other side of the venue something odd was taking place.

“I’ll fucking kill you for this,” hissed Miles, hands shielding his face. Half a dozen security guards arrived and began to guide him and his friend toward safer, less crowded places.

“I don’t get your problem,” snarled Tim at Miles as some guard not so kindly hauled him along by his arm to get him to move. “You’ve played the same damned stage not too long ago. Why the fuck are you hiding in the back?”

“Because,” roared Miles, temper flaring at the prospect of the singer finding out he’d been here, lurking in the shadows, watching, “It’s my fucking choice! I decide what I want to do, not you! I decide who I want to meet, who I want to see, and from bloody fucking where I want to watch a concert. I sure won’t watch one with you again!” Spinning around, adjusting his cap, he faced the security guard and took a deep, steadying breath as he did. “Where’s the nearest exit?”

“Emergency exit is around the corner. Need us to call you a car, Mr. Kane?”

“No, thank you,” he assured, straining himself to remain polite. “Thank you for your help. He,” spat Miles, nodding at Tim, “will need a cab.”

He couldn’t recall when and where he’d met Tim. He’d just shown up one day. His boyfriend had introduced him as a stand-up guy with a good sense of humor. So far, Miles could attest for neither. Somehow, Tim had found out about the concert and practically invited himself. Now, here they were, at the end of their shared road. “Stay away from me, get that?”

With that, he marched away. There was a reason he kept his professional persona away from his private life. He didn’t want those two to mix. Miles Kane, the rock star, was friends with everybody. Miles Kane, the private person, was friends with a very small, very select group of people.

“Mr. Kane, Mr. Kane,” somebody called after him with a breathless voice. “Please, Sir, wait!”

Biting back a groan, he slowed down and looked back over his shoulder. One of the security guards was running up to him, a cell phone in his hand. “That was the group’s manager,” the guy informed him. “He’d like you to join the band backstage.”

“The…what?” He blinked with irritation through an onsetting headache, not convinced he’d heard that right. “Richard wants _me_ backstage?” There was a history between them and not the good kind. “I doubt it.”

“He doesn’t know it’s you. Only said I’m supposed to bring the celeb that hid in the back backstage.” The guard shrugged with the indifference of somebody who made minimum wage and only did as he was told. “That’s you.”

“Ah.” That made more sense. “Trust me, man. He doesn’t want me backstage. Not even near it. ’tis all good. And if Richard asks, tell him Miles Kane politely declined. Have a good night.” With that, he waved one last time at the amassing cluster of rock enthusiasts that were dying to get to him for pictures and autographs, and then practically ran toward the exit.

It was time to leave.

**#Alex**

He still remembered it. That morning. The one when he’d knocked on Miles’ parents’ front door. He’d finished a song that morning, one that he and Miles had fiddled and struggled with for months. Somehow, the solution, the final lyric, had come to him in his sleep. He’d still been amused about it by the time he’d arrived at the door. Then Miles’ mom had opened it and told him that something bad had happened. She’d been teary-eyed and for a split second that had lasted half a lifetime, he’d feared that an awful tragedy had taken place. He’d imagined that Miles might have been in an accident. That he might have gotten injured, even died. His mind had come up with the worst scenarios in the shortest amount of time. If he’d known then that reality was a million times worse, he’d have run and never returned. He’d have gladly accepted the idea that Miles was dead. It would have permanently wounded him, it’d have left him with a scar too deep to heal for the rest of his life, but it would have served as the bookend to a story that was over. It’d have been finite and final.

Instead, she’d told him that Miles had left. She didn’t know where to, what for, or whether or not he’d ever come back, but he’d left his parents a note telling them that all was good and that he’d call as soon as he got a chance.

Fifteen years later, and Alex still waited for _his_ note. For _his_ call. They had been friends. Boyfriends. Lovers. Soulmates. They’d trusted each other. They’d been partners in crime and they’d been bandmates. Their lives had been entwined.

Until that morning.

He’d grown up that day. Or, maybe, he’d stopped growing up that day. He’d done something. Rather, Miles’ leaving had done something to him. And to this day, he waited for his chance to confront him over it.

It’d be so easy to do.

He knew where he lived. Five blocks away from his own house, here, in London. In an apartment. It had a blue door and was parted off by a white picket fence. The building was four stories tall, had red bricks, and white wooden window frames. He’d driven by countless times. He avoided walking down that street as though the Plague still lingered in the air. As though physically stepping across the pavement inevitably led to death. It might.

All he’d have to do was park the car, get out, knock on the door, and wait. Miles would answer the door himself. Alex had seen him do it from the safe cover of his car, watching strangers do the deed and be received.

But he couldn’t.

It wasn’t his job to take the first step.

That role was reserved for Miles. And for fifteen years, Miles had never bothered to step up to the task. He didn’t want contact. He’d never sought him out. He’d never tried to explain himself. He’d run away, he’d hidden from Alex, and he’d been hiding ever since.

In plain sight, too. On the stages of this world. On vinyl covers in record stores. Or on album artwork online. The times were changing, after all. On billboards, he’d spotted him. On a tour poster on some random street in Los Angeles. There was a park bench in Madrid that somebody had sprayed with lyrics of his. Alex had seen pictures of it. It was laughable. Hilarious, truly. They had toured the same festivals, the same cities, and yet as if by magical interference, they’d never come face to face. For better or for worse.

Probably for the better, mused Alex, strumming away on his acoustic and inwardly pondering the rumors that Miles Kane had been at the show tonight, hiding in the back wedged between fans.

Sitting backstage, in the dressing room, slowly returning to earth after playing yet another sold-out show, he felt different than he did on other nights. This performance, he could have happily gone without. Something about this night was strange. Nothing had gone right. Everything had gone wrong. Instruments had been out of tune, cables had gotten crossed and tangled, and he’d forgotten lyrics to songs he’d sung a million times before. Even his bandmates had seemed out of it tonight.

“Full moon today,” his drummer, Matt, tried to explain while opening a bottle of beer with his lighter. “That fucks with shit, right?”

Thirty years and counting, Alex couldn’t recall a single instance in which the moon – full, half, or any other way – had ever messed with his life. But sure, if he wanted to blame that thing for the roadies not doing their job right, let him.

He stopped strumming. “Should we maybe, like, talk about what happened earlier?” The smooth stretch of skin between Alex’s brows became creased as he said it and silently ridiculed the notion that this was something that required the act of a deliberate discussion. “I mean, I don’t think I told you guys anything shocking, did I?”

The dressing room was off-limits to anybody, but in front of the wide-open door, people had gathered to chat, drink, and party. Matt sat down next to him. “We aren’t done touring and you booked the studio already? Without asking any of us? I didn’t even know you had written stuff to record yet.”

Alex leaned back as he held on to his guitar, an inanimate object which had over the years become his most trusted friend and ally. “It’s what we always do. We record, we release, we tour, we start over.”

“Yes,” agreed Matt, meeting his eyes. “And after years of doing nothing else, the rest of us were hoping for a break.”

“What for?” asked Alex, stunned. “We’re good to go.” He had piles of songs ready to be done. Lyrics, riffs, notes, all of it. Why wait for the inevitable?

“Jamie got engaged last year. He’s getting married in a few weeks.”

“Not gonna make him record on his wedding day,” promised Alex, only to pull his lips up. “I’ll have him come in early the next morning.” Where he expected a chuckle, Matt replied with a squint. Did he not get that it had been a joke? “I was joking,” stated Alex then, bothered. Where had Matt’s sense of humor gone? Was that too hiding behind the full moon?

From the table next to him, Matt grabbed another bottle of beer, opened it, and handed it to Alex. “See, you know that it was a joke. I didn’t. And that should tell you something. Let’s take a break, Al. Just a few months. What’s the rush? Live life a little.” Tipping the necks of their bottles together with a “cheers!”, Matt got up and joined the ruckus outside the room.

Eyes rolled as Alex took a swig, placed the bottle away, and strummed on.

Live a little.

What fucked up suggestion was that? He was living. He was breathing, was he not? Speaking, thinking, walking, talking, singing, screwing, smoking, drinking, sleeping, all that shit that living people did. According to his mother, he was living life too much.

What was it, then?

People ought to make up their minds.

Live more. Live less.

One or the other.

Well, he lived life the only way he knew how to. By making music and staying busy. If Jamie wanted to get married, let him. He was happy for him. Despite youthful oaths to never settle down and burden himself with a family, the guy had fallen head of strings in love and couldn’t wait with the baby-making. When Alex had reminded him that they had the privilege of living in the times of anti-baby pills and an endless condom supply and could have sex just for the joy of it, Jamie had told him to grow up.

His guitarist was turning into a freak.

His bassist, Nick, had recently moved in with his girlfriend. Matt had gotten married already, a sneaky little ceremony in Vegas two years back.

And Alex?

He had fun. He had girlfriends, boyfriends, sex. Although, the terms girlfriend and boyfriend were applied generously. He did commit to relationships, but not because he loved them. It just made it easier when he wanted to have sex or spend time with somebody outside the band. Whenever he was single, it took way too much time to find anyone for that.

Although, he supposed, falling for somebody wasn’t the worst fate in the world. He’d done it once, painful though it had ended, for as long as it had lasted, it had been good. Better, even.

Thinking back to the rumors, he glanced up, to look at Richard, their manager, sitting on the other side of the room, quietly managing stuff. “Any truth to it?”

Being the only other person in the room, Richard knew Alex was speaking to him. “‘bout what?”

“Miles. Was he here?”

After a beat, he nodded curtly. “Left in a hurry after getting recognized.”

Shocking.

Miles always left in a hurry. Alex resumed running the pick over his strings, getting lost in uncharted melodies. It’d have been a miracle if Miles had stayed. “Was he alone?”

“No.”

Alex missed a string. The dull sound of a misplayed chord had Richard raise his eyes and Alex caught it. Bluffing, passing it off as a slip of the finger, he repeated the chord, perfectly this time. “Woman or…”

“Man.”

Maybe Richard knew of their past. It wasn’t a secret, just as it wasn’t a story that was being widely told. Whether or not he did, he quietly and stripped clean of any judgment or personal opinion provided, “Miles left by himself. Alone.” Minutes passed in silence before Richard spoke up once more. “Why _Angel_?”

Yes, it had been an odd choice for a cover, Alex would admit. “The lyrics…something about ‘em spoke to me, I guess.”

“You know it’s about musicians doing heroin, right? Guess I’m just curious. As your manager and friend, should I worry?”

 _Wow_.

“No,” said Alex, snickering, “I did not know it was about that.” Although it made sense that it was about drugs and escapism, now that he gave it some thought. “I don’t do drugs.”

A pointed look.

“A joint here and there isn’t heroin, Richard. Come on!” This night really was one for the bin! “I don’t do drugs. Hard drugs. Whatever.” He’d seen what it did to people. It messed with their heads, their minds. He needed both to survive. Thinking was his release, his way to sanity. Writing, expressing, finding words to feelings that no other knew how to describe. “Why would you even ask?”

“I got eyes. You’re sad, lately. I’m not the only one who noticed.”

He wasn’t sad. Though, maybe, he was. He felt lost. For as long as he’d known how to play guitar and make music, he’d done that. He’d formed a band with his mates, he’d fought to get them heard, to get bigger, to get into clubs, then into concert halls, from there to arenas, now stadiums. What this tour had revealed was that he’d arrived. Save for a few festivals that no longer existed and some stages that he’d yet to conquer, there were very few mountaintops left to climb. “Read a book not too long ago. ‘bout an athlete. Won big, everything there was to win. And then he retired. And it almost killed him.” What if life held the same destiny for him?

“You haven’t even won a _Grammy_ yet.” Richard shut his phone off and smiled. “That’s your fear? That you’re done? _The Rolling Stones_ would drop off the chair from laughing.” He got up. “Before you retire, consider living first. Come on, let’s go join the party.”

Alex detached from his guitar and ignored that light breeze of coldness that arrived in its absence. Living. There it was again, that damned advice.

But fine. Whatever. If they wanted him to live, he’d live.

Rock star style.

“Helders,” he barked, over the loud noises of laughter, music, and chatter. “Gimme that bottle.”

Matt handed him the expensive Vodka.

Alex took a long swig straight from it. Raised it high, an expression of victory. Or something. Cheers. More laughter. Somebody turned the music up. He drank more. And more. And more.

**#Sheffield**

**#August 2002**

Eyes shot open wide. Light exploded inside the room. As did a vicious headache inside his head. Alex groaned, louder and louder, trying to offset the pain with an audible expression of disagreement. It didn’t work.

Neither helped the loud and harsh voice of his mother. “Get up, will you? I warned you, my boy. I warned you. Drinking and partying on the last night of summer break…” Her head shook with that biting quality of disapproval, the one all mothers apparently owned by default. “That’s what you get for that.”

He was sure she’d said a few more things, maybe even a few mean things, but he was barely alive, holding on to the last shrouds of sanity. Fuck that fucking headache! Rolling around, wrapping himself into his blanket and belatedly fathoming that it was fucking August, fucking hot, and he fucking sweaty, the bloody fabric now clung everywhere to him like a straitjacket.

He gave groaning a second chance. “Can’t go to school today. M’head hurts!”

Cold laughter from his mother. “Good. Get moving. Breakfast is ready.”

Food.

His stomach churned with violent opposition. “Moo-o-oom! I’m in pain.”

“Yes.” Penny Turner pulled the window open wide, lacking even the barest sympathy. “And if you’re not downstairs in fifteen minutes, showered and dressed, that pretty new guitar of yours will return to the store I bought it from. Move!”

Thundering footsteps carried her out of his room. From inside the sweat-dampened blanket, Alex peeked at the shiny new electric securely placed on the stand, surrounded by a pillow on each side just in case it might accidentally fall out of it. His first real _Fender_.

His head fell back into the cushion.

He kicked the blanket away. “Fucking shit!” If this morning set the tone for the rest of the year, he’d be in for a hell of a ride…

.

.

**Spoiler Chapter Two:**

#

“Name’s Alex,” said Alex pointedly, one eye aimed on his teacher who still tried to win the back-and-forth Matt had ensnared her in. “My friends call me Turner, but you’ll have to work your way up there.” 

His response was a snort. “Miles,” provided Miles and turned to face him more fully, slowing his speech and elongating his vowels when adding, “That’s pronounced Maaaii-llz. Got that?” 

What the fuck? “I’m not an idiot,” he snarled in return. Although he was beginning to think that Miles might be one. 

Miles shrugged. “Says so on your back.” 

“What?!” Immediately patting his own back and silently cursing when finding a sheet of paper stuck to it, he pulled it free and read it: _I’m a fucking Idiot_. Who—? What—? Why—? Whipping his head towards Eileen, eyes pinched together, Alex glared. 

She waved her delicate fingers his way and smiled innocently. 

The fucking b— Yes, there was history between them. Maybe he’d asked her out last year. Maybe he’d taken her to see a movie. Maybe they’d fooled around some. And maybe he’d promised to call afterward and never did. None of that justified getting tagged, though! He flipped her off. 

“ALEXANDER!” bellowed Misses Hall. “A word after class.” 

#


	2. Trouble

**#2002**

**#Alex**

The day was toast before it had even begun. Not just any toast, it was burnt toast. Cheap, dry white-wheat, charred-black burnt toast with a fat slice of moldy cheese to top it off. He stood in the door of his classroom, hip cocked, shoulder resting against the frame, arms crossed, and faced the fact: At eight-fifty-eight on a Monday morning in August in the year two thousand and two, life, for all intents and purposes, sucked big. 

“’scuse me,” barked one of his classmates, trying to slide past him into the room. “Move, will ya?” Her name was Eileen. Last year, she’d been shy and docile, always giggling in the presence of a male student. This year, her hair was clipped and bleached blond, black lines circled her eyes, and her skirt had lost a good two inches. “Fucking idiot…” Judging by her crude manner of speak, she had also gained some confidence.

Good for her.

That didn’t detract from the obvious, though. Which was and remained written in stone and set in granite: It was time to leave.

“Helders!” With a voice that boomed across rows of desks, past perking ears and nosy looks, Alex’s words were an imperious demand that hit the eardrums of his friend with force. “I’m out. Make some up some shitty excuse, will ya? Done with this loony bin,” he muttered as he turned tail.

Only to collide with his math teacher Miss Hall, a woman in her late fifties, wearing a tight bun, horn-rimmed glasses, and not a trace of humor in all of her body. “Mister Turner, leaving us this early, are we? I haven’t even begun to bestow my wisdom upon you. Don’t you care to learn some?”

“Math?”

“Or conduct,” she suggested with the kind of eagerness for teaching that teachers ideally lost after years of service. Not this one. “While we’re at it, deciding what and what not to learn, that is, why not improve your language? The proper form of inquiry would be ‘will you?’ Although, it is debatable how much a two-word question is or ever was proper. Try ‘If you will’, or ‘If you would’ in the future, and since politeness can never be overvalued, add a grateful ‘thank you’ or a kind ‘much obliged’ at the end. Or better yet…” Her arm darted out and her hand settled on his shoulder, gently guiding him inside, “Be quiet until you’re called upon. That would serve us all the most. Now go and sit, or we will have to take up our tradition from last year and start our Mondays with a trip to the headmaster.”

Roughly twenty teenagers erupted in laughter. And one sighed tiredly. “No need.” Trouble in school would lead to trouble at home which would lead to no electric guitar and that would mean the burnt-toast day became a burnt-toast year. Defeated, he took a seat. In the front row. The last one left. Which was the very reason he had not wanted to take it in the first place and would have preferred to exit instead. Dropping his book onto the desk, stretching and crossing his legs out, Alex settled in. 

Miss Hall, being the torturous human that she was, naturally called on him first. “Well, then. Let’s begin, shall we? Alexander, would you like to catch us up on where we left off before summer break?”

He didn’t recall what he ate yesterday. How was he supposed to remember what kind of shit they did weeks ago? “Something with numbers?”

Snickers.

“You may be on to something,” she encouraged. “Try harder.”

His hearing was excellent. Always had been. He could make out the hushed voices in the back. Matt, his friend, his drummer, and the guy who had not bothered saving him a seat next to him, was telling Eileen a joke. Somebody else was taking notes, something that required scribbling with a pen on paper. Two female voices not far behind gossiped about him and came to the joint conclusion that he looked ‘so good’ in his leather jacket. It made a smirk spring to his lips. He wore it for that precise reason, despite August’s simmering heat and the school’s uniform melting to his skin. People agreed, then. There was a surprising amount of giggling taking place, which irritated him for he could not recall anything funny taking place to justify that. 

“Still waiting for you to try, Alexander.”

What the compliment had done for his mood, Misses Hall’s words took away. Eyes shot up to her and it took actual physical exercise not to roll ‘em. “That thing with the letters and the numbers, eh…and the…stuff?”

“Algebra? We did that. And what, exactly, did we— MATTHEW!”

A sudden, deadly silence fell over the room.

Her impatience flared. “You have a joke you want to share with the rest of us?”

The teacher stepped further into the room, inching in on his friend. Alex took a breath and used this moment of peace to take inventory of his surroundings. To his left sat Mark, one of the kids always talking computers and weird shit like that. He excelled in math and because of that, Alex made a mental note to treat him nicely. After all, it was only a matter of time before he’d need his assistance, a copy of his homework, or the solution to it. To his right…huh, that kid was new. He’d never seen him before. Skinny. Longish hair. Much to Alex’s frustration, however, he lacked any visible markers to judge him by. No signs of allegiance on his jacket, no patches, no stickers, none on his bag according to first glances, which meant he wasn’t one of those trying to save the world one lame Green Peace pin at a time. No band stickers, either. That sucked. Alex was partial to determining a person’s character based on music preferences. The new kid’s shirt was crinkly. Then again, so was his own. His tie was knotted to perfection.

“Something wrong?” hissed the stranger quietly, eyebrows arched with a telltale tint of annoyance that followed prolonged scrutiny. He recognized it quickly for he, too, hated being surveyed by others.

Caught staring, Alex rolled his shoulders quickly while tearing his gaze away. “Nope.” Only to let it crawl back. Slowly. “New?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

He fought back a growl. How he hated it when people treated basic information as a secret. “Name’s Alex,” said Alex pointedly, one eye aimed at his teacher who still tried to win the back-and-forth Matt had ensnared her in. “My friends call me Turner, but you’ll have to work your way up there.”

His response was a snort. “Miles,” provided Miles and turned to face him more fully, slowing his speech and elongating his vowels when adding, “That’s pronounced Maaaii-llz. Got that?”

 _What the fuck?_ “I’m not an idiot,” he snarled in return. Although he was beginning to think that Miles might be one.

Miles shrugged. “Says so on your back.”

“What?!” Immediately patting his own back and silently cursing when finding a sheet of paper stuck to it, he pulled it free and read it: _I’m a fucking Idiot_. Who—? What—? Why—? Whipping his head towards Eileen, eyes pinched together, Alex glared.

She waved her delicate fingers his way and smiled innocently.

The fucking b— Yes, there was a history between them. Maybe he’d asked her out last year. Maybe he’d taken her to see a movie. Maybe they’d fooled around some. And maybe he’d promised to call afterward and never did. None of that justified getting tagged, though! He flipped her off.

“ALEXANDER!” bellowed Misses Hall. “A word after class.”

Sliding further into his chair, Alex faced back front and shook his head. He should have stayed in bed this morning. Also, he should have not worn that bloody leather jacket! Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he arched the small of his back, allowing fragments of air to travel beneath that constraining article of clothing. Taking it off was no longer an option, considering the white button-up shirt beneath was drenched and reeked no doubt. Should he try and sneak home after math to change? That meant arriving late to chemistry.

Alex tapped Miles’ arm with the back of his hand, whispering, “What class you got after this one?”

Miles tossed him some spare bits of attentiveness. “Chemistry.”

“Me, too. Do me a favor and save me a seat in the back. I’ll be running late.”

“That word with the teacher will take that long?”

The word with what?

He remembered, then. _Fuck!_

“I’ll be running very late, then.” He lived only two blocks away and thank God both his parents were out at work. If he hurried? Five minutes to get home, five minutes to change, five minutes back. Add in that damned word… “Damnit.” It’d take too long.

The curse sparked Miles’ interest. “What?”

“Nothin.”

“You sweat.”

“I know,” drawled Alex, suffering through it.

“Take the jacket off.”

“Can’t. Too late for that.”

“Got a spare shirt in my locker. Want it?”

Shooting him a surprised look, Alex’s eyes were wide and grateful. “Thanks, man! Favors, huh? A sure way to get on my good side. Turner to you it is. That’s Tuuuur-nah! Got that?”

A cackle from Miles.

“Miles! You, too, then,” decided Misses Hall. “Well, well. Quite a group I’ll be chatting to after class.”

“Shit,” vexed Alex. “That’s me, you, Matt…Jamie is our last hope for good chem seats, now.…”

  
  


Alex tossed the jacket into his bag, along with the smelly shirt, doused himself in deodorant, and arched one last time to revel in the space and freedom that an unclad upper body provided. Then he scrambled to get Miles’ spare shirt buttoned up. Fucking time limitations. “Why you got a locker full of school uniforms?”

Miles, resting against a sink, took in the room. “Got one sent to wear today. The rest I picked up this morning before class. We got here just yesterday. The move was very last-minute.”

Standing in front of the mirror, contemplating style-options and settling for a loose tie and the top two buttons undone, Alex made no effort to tone down his curiosity. “Where are you from?”

“Liverpool.”

“Beatles-town? Cool. You a fan?”

“Who isn’t?”

“Right! Went there last year with my parents. Museum and all that. Great city. Why’d you move here?”

“Work. My dad got a new job.”

“Ah.” He caught sight of the big clock above the door. “Shit, we’re so fucking late.” He gave up on the perfect collar position, snatched up his bag, and put his hand on Miles’ shoulder to push him out the door. “Hurry. Corridor to the left, last room. Move! Don’t need any more trouble today.”

“No?” Miles laughed as he headed forth. “Seems you and trouble go hand in hand. I can tell and I’ve just met you!”

Still guiding him forward, or shoving him, depending on personal perspectives, Alex snickered. “Wait ’til you know me better.”

“What then?”

“Then,” he let him know whilst arriving in front of the destined room, “you’ll find I don’t take trouble by the hand. I try to run from it. Always. I’m very upstanding.” He ignored Miles’ chortled amusement. “It’s only that…” How to put this well? “I’m not that fast a runner. And trouble likes to sprint.” He knocked as he elbowed Miles’ arm. “Look sad.”

“Why?” Miles asked, but did it, nonetheless. Lids lowered. The smile vanished. The door opened.

“Mister Turner and…” Mister Calloway, the chem teacher plucked his sight from Alex and cast a disapproving expression at Miles, the sort that seized you up and judged you prematurely. “You must be the new one. Miles Kane, is it? You’re late. Not a good first impression.”

Alex cleared his throat and croaked, “It’s my fault we’re late. Miles was kind enough to stay with me. See, Mister C, I had to run to the phone and check on my grandma. She’s in an assisted-living facility because of her advanced age and last night…” He paused and gulped for dramatic effect. “We got the dreaded call that her death is imminent. I just wanted to check in and make sure she’s still alive. I mean, the poor woman is in her late eighties. She could die any minute.” Working hard as he played the distraught grandchild, Alex gave his all in the name of selling his story. “Like, at this age, what’s life but a few strangled breaths, right? I suppose you know how it feels, what with you being almost her age and all—”

This time, it was Miles who rammed his elbow into Alex’s side. And damnit, he had a sharp elbow! “Ow!”

“I am fifty-three,” bristled Mister Calloway. “And you’re best served by shutting up, Turner! Both of you, take a seat!”

“Yes,” mumbled both, and entered the room.

To his great relief, Jamie Cook, friend and wise man, had blocked the entire last row. Plenty of empty seats. “Perfect!” Alex gave Miles’ shirt a tug. “Up there.”

“Stop right there,” tore Calloway into Alex’s march. “Front row. Gonna keep you close to me.”

Alex groaned from the bottom of his heart.

Miles obediently slipped into the seat next to him. “I’m not sure sticking to you is doing me any good. You bring your grandma into this?”

Eyes met. Miles wore a mix of awe and outrage. Alex chuckled, putting him at ease. “Her idea. She told me to use her age if it served me. Said that’s the only thing age is good for. Great woman. Should meet her someday.” A plea slipped into his voice. “Just don’t ever tell my mother.”

“I don’t know your mother.”

“You’ll meet her next period. She’s your English teacher.”

“She’s a teacher at your school? Wow, your life sucks, huh?”

“Yeah,” agreed Alex completely. “Finally, somebody who gets it!”   
  


Thanks to a grueling yet perfectly timed incident that led to the biology room being crawled by hundreds, possibly thousands of ants that escaped _The Great Antquarium_ – a monstrosity which the natural sciences teachers had gotten last year and which supposedly had begun to leak ants around midnight last night, the fourth period had been canceled.

Alex put his shades on and hopped onto the fence near the parking lot, taking a long drag from the cigarette between his lips as he followed the arrival of not only one but two exterminator vans. While smoking on school property was forbidden, the fence bordered school property but was owned by an old man living right next to the building. Ole’ Stanley, as he liked to be called, hated the school and its noise about as much if not more as Alex did. Also, much like Alex, he, too, loved smoking and had given him and his friends free reign of his fence in exchange for the occasional mow of his lawn.

The next one to mow was a kid from sixth grade, who’d gotten roped into duty after knocking over their friend Andy’s bike. The bike had a scratch, the kid would work it off ’til fall arrived.

Patting the spot next to him, Alex nodded when Miles walked up to their group. “Kane, come join us! You smoke?” Holding out his pack of cigarettes, Miles took one. “Fellas, this is Miles. Helped me out this morning. Which makes him a friend. Miles, this is Matt, Jamie, Nick and Andy.”

“Guys,” greeted Miles and settled onto the fence.

Alex took it upon himself to complete the introduction. “Miles is new. From Liverpool. Literally just moved here. Loves _The Beatles_ , abhors math as much as I do and thinks I’m bad influence.”

“Smart one to figure it out so soon,” quipped Jamie. “Took me a month and four hours of detention to make that call.”

“Took me seven hours,” chimed Andy. “For some reason, I’m still hanging out with you.”

Alex gaped at his disloyal friends. “I’m not a bad influence. I’m…”

“Cursed,” suggested Miles, drawing laughter from everyone.

Far from insulted, Alex corrected, “I’d say I’m gifted.” Withdrawing the cigarette, he shifted to have a better view of his new friend with a quick smile and fast comebacks. “We’re also known as the _Smoking Monkeys_.”

“Like a gang or something?”

“Band,” said Nick. “On our way to becoming the greatest band of all times!”

“Cool! Played any gigs yet?”

“Like he said,” piped Alex, eyes darting to the ground. “On our way. But we might have a gig three weeks from now. Shit, totally forgot to tell you, guys!” He was met with stunned looks. “My mom’s friend’s dentist or something, whatever, owns a small club and some band was supposed to play but had to cancel. He said if we’re good, we could have the slot so I passed along our demo tape and he’ll call tomorrow to let us know.”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, a real gig!”

“We have to rehearse,” Andy pointed out.

“Big-time,” agreed Jamie.

Alex gave Miles’ thigh a slap. “We’ll practice after school. Wanna come? You could give us your honest opinion. Remember though, if you tell us we suck, you’ll lose our friendship!”

“Yeah, but then you can no longer get me into trouble, right?”

More laughter.

“You’ll want me to get you into trouble, trust me.”

**#2018**

**#Miles**

They hadn’t said a word to one another in well over a decade and he still managed to get him into trouble. Miles leaned against the kitchen island, stared at the large clock at the far side of his apartment, and distantly wondered why he’d ever gotten that hideous thing. Why was it so important to know what time it was and furthermore why was said time so significant that it required a fucking big ass clock the size of a bloody bass drum? “Why did I pick that clock? I hate it.”

“The…what?” His boyfriend Daniel, in the midst of being pissed off at him, spun around, glanced at the item in question, and frowned. “I got it. It’s Art Deco.”

Miles blanked. “Is that fancy speech for ‘too big’?”

“You told me to get it.”

“I did?” Why would he have done that?

“Yes,” bit Daniel, clearly bothered to be having this conversation. About the clock or the concert, which was the thing that had gotten Miles into trouble with him in the first place. “Don’t you remember? Last year, in Paris. We went to that flee market and I spotted it and you said to buy it if I wanted it.”

Paris?

Oh, when he’d gotten that rare _Sex Pistols_ LP! “Right, right…” Did that mean he’d paid for the ugly clock? Eyes squinted as he tried thinking back. “Just saying, it’s really big.”

“Yes,” clipped Daniel dismissively, “it is.” He was a surgeon, a good one, and as all doctors, he had perfected the art of rerouting any conversation back to its main point. “Just as big as the concert. Literally and metaphorically. Why are you changing the topic?”

He might as well have said, ‘You got one day left to live. Stop fucking around.’ “Not changing the topic,” muttered Miles. He was done with the topic. What more was there to discuss or even argue about? This wasn’t some rare disease that required tests and studies and medical trials. It was a fucking concert. Yes, he’d gone to see Alex’s show. Not the first and not the last he’d watch. “Why are you angry about it?”

“I don’t know, Miles.” Daniel crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side, giving him that grating ‘you really need me to explain what should be obvious to you?’ look which tended to leave him feeling belittled and slightly stupid. “Gee, could it be that I don’t like that you’re hung up on your fucking ex?!”

“Not hung up!” To be fair, maybe he was a little hung up. He guessed it was strange for people to follow their ex’s career with the kind of interest Miles paid it. But Alex was more than just some ex. He’d been his first best friend. His first gay kiss. His first time with a man. His first…he’d been the first person that Miles had truly, deeply fallen for. More than that, though, they’d shared a mind. For a while, they’d been inseparable. They’d been happy. And it hadn’t ended because he’d stopped being happy with Alex, it had ended because he’d stopped being a person on his own without Alex.

“How’d you feel if you knew I’d follow my ex around?”

“You do.” Miles winced. “I mean, not like…” Fuck!

Daniel dug in. “Like what? You said you don’t mind that I work with my ex. I can’t help that he works in the same hospital I do. There are not that many jobs available for doctors aside from working in hospitals. There’s plenty of other loud music you can listen to!”

He could handle being called out for crimes he did commit but being told that alternative rock with a spritz of punk and dash of nostalgia was nothing but ‘loud music’ when in fact it was Daniel’s bewildering interest in _Beethoven_ and _Mozart_ that ought to be put on stand the scraped against Miles’ cracked patience. He bit back his reply and drew the white flag, lest they planned on turning this into a real screaming match. At this time, with these neighbors, he’d rather not. “Know what? I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you go? That’s all I want to know. What’s so fucking special about him that you need to go back and see him perform?”

It was almost midnight. He was tired. And Miles doubted Daniel cared for the list that Miles could give him, and which would take all night to finish. So, instead, he lied. “Nothing special about him. Just…professional curiosity, I guess. Same reason you go to your medical conferences and whatnot. You want to know what’s out there and what the others are doing.”

Mellowed for now, but not over it – that much Miles could tell – Daniel relented, and his voice went from accusing to gentle. “I don’t need to worry?”

“Worry about what?” Pushing away from the counter, he brought his hands to his boyfriend’s waist and leaned in. “I’m with you, aren’t I? And I told you, Alex and I don’t talk anymore. We haven’t spoken in years and believe me, that won’t change anytime soon.”

“Alright. I love you.”

“Right back at you.”

  
  


_Huh._

Maybe he’d spoken too soon.

The next morning, enjoying his quiet hour after Daniel had left for work, Miles’ usual pleasure came to an abrupt stop and he stilled. The mug came to halt mid-air, a good two inches away from his mouth as his eyes feasted on the iPad in front of him.

An email from Matt.

 _Head’s up_ , it read, lacking introductions, greetings, and any other proper parts. _Jamie’s bachelor party ahead. The band, some others, and YOU will be expected to appear Saturday night four weeks from now at nine sharp at an address which will be provided to you at a later point. Prepare for a night of epic drinking, partying, and stories that will never see the light of day. Booze will be offered._

‘The band’

What a nice way of saying Alex would be there. Of course, Alex would be there. Which was exactly the reason he hadn’t expected to be invited to the bachelor party in the first place. Maybe it was a mistake? Maybe he’d gotten the invite by accident?

He reached for his phone and dialed.

“I’m sleeping,” a croaking voice rumbled. “Be quiet.”

“Haven’t said anything,” countered Miles and chuckled. “Rough night?”

“Miles?” A drawn-out groan. “Heard you came last night. Could have stayed. Hell of a party backstage.”

“I couldn’t. You know why. That’s why I’m calling. Got your invite.”

“So? Got better plans? One of our best mates is gettin’ hitched. That requires a proper bloody send-off.”

“Yes,” he fully agreed. “Which is why—”

“You need to get over this fucking bullshit you and Al got going on. Like it’s been ten fucking years and more. Seriously, divorced people get over it faster. See it as an opportunity. Nothing better than a night of drunken debauchery to move on.”

Debau— “What do you plan on doing? Jamie’s an honest guy.”

“Not everyone’s married,” remarked Matt. “Some get to enjoy, some get to hear the tales. Trust me, my friend. It’ll be a great night.”

“Does Alex know I’m invited?”

“Are you kidding? No.”

“Matt!”

“I’ll tell him, then. Geez, chill, will ya?”

“I got a bad feeling about this and I don’t want to be the reason Jamie’s last night of _debauchery_ turns haywire.”

“It’s up to you, isn’t it? Whether or not you and Al get along?” A tired yawn filled the line. “Listen, I barely slept and it’s still the middle of the night. Call me later, yeah?”

It was nearly ten a.m. and Miles shook his head with a laugh. “Sleep tight, then.”

He put the phone away, reached for his mug once more, and sipped on. A feeling of unease began to spread in the pit of his stomach, a sickening mixture of bile and regret. How easy Matt made it sound. Don’t fight with him if you don’t want to. It wasn’t about fighting. It wasn’t even about talking. It was the simple act of seeing. Of being face to face, in close proximity, with the guy he’d left brokenhearted and who’d yet had to hear an apology for that.

Lowering the mug, drained of all thirst for coffee or any other thing, Miles leaned back. Closed his eyes. Sighed. Then grunted. “This will be a clusterfuck of epic proportions…”

.

.

** Spoiler Chapter 3: **

#

“Thinks of himself as some sort of musical God or whatever and—”

“Matt, you mean?”

“Matt?” Alex blinked, his rage short-stopped. “No. Miles is the asshole!”

“Who is Miles?”

“That’d be me.”

The chocolate slipped from Alex’s hands. “Fuck!”

#

“ _Poof_?” asked Daniel, his mouth warping around the word in perplexity, a state of mind accentuated by the furrows on his forehead. “That meaning what?”

“Oh-oh,” mocked Alex, bringing theatrics into it when he raised his hand to his mouth and mimicked a gasp. “I fear I’m about to spoiler you.”

#


	3. Spoiler

**#2018**

**#Alex**

“You make it sound as though it’s my fault and that’s not fair. I’m not the one who left. I’m not the one who snuck away without saying goodbye. I’m not the one who—”

Matt snorted. The big, fat sort of snort that tended to infuse Alex with a sense of being ridiculed. “You made off with the whole fucking bag of french fries and ate it while the rest of us waited here for you in the parking lot! We fucking didn’t sneak away, we left ‘cause it was getting crowded.”

“With fans,” nodded Alex, pleading his case. “Who all demanded fucking pictures and whatnot. Being famous makes me hungry. I found a booth and ate the fries.” And now, he licked his greasy fingers, tossed the empty bag into the trashcan, and leaned with his ass against Nick’s SUV inside which the owner and Jamie were chatting ‘bout something or other. “If you want some, go get some.”

“I will. And you’ll pay for it.” Matt’s fingers, firm from years of playing drums, circled around his arm and he pulled him along, back into the burger joint. “Besides, there’s something you and I need to discuss.”

“Safe words?” He wrestled his arm free. “Mine’s _Fuck Off_.”

“How very original. You’re supposed to use words you don’t usually say during sex.”

Alex shot him a blank look. “Who says ‘fuck off’ during sex?”

“You say ‘fuck’ during sex.”

“How would you know what and what not I say whilst having sex?” He had an urgent need to find out. ‘cause if Matt had eavesdropped or some shit like that… The idea made him shudder.

“Will you relax?” Stepping back into the fast-food restaurant, Matt’s face distorted. “Like I care what you say during sex. Everyone says ‘fuck’ when at it. Like a rule of nature or something. Miles probably says it, too. Speaking of Miles, I’ve invited him to Jamie’s bachelor party.”

Alex’s head along with his mood plummeted to the ground. “Smooth, Helders. Really smooth. Nobody eases into sensitive topics the way you do. You know, with the delicate sensitivity of a fucking steam train running at full speed.” They reached the counter. “Good for him. I had other plans anyway.” He had not, but he most certainly wouldn’t participate in a social gathering of any sort when Miles Kane was present. A girl with a yellow shirt and cap walked up to them. Alex smiled politely. “A big bag of fries, please.”

“Other plans, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Didn’t mention that.”

“Forgot.”

“What plans?”

“My great aunt turns eighty-three. She’s in an assisted-living facility and could die any day, now. It’d be awful if I missed what could quite possibly be her last birthday in this realm.”

Matt leaned onto the counter, weight propped up on his elbows, and gazed at the chocolate topped donuts. “That aunt Stella or aunt Mary?”

 _Shit._ “Aunt Eliza.”

“And her birthday is…”

“Friday, four weeks from now. The day you said Jamie’s bachelor party would take place. See, if it were any other day, I’d have managed to break free. But that Friday…”

An empathetic nod rolled from Matt. And a small smile. “Did I say Friday?”

Alex froze in the midst of pulling out his wallet. “Helders,” he warned.

“See, I’m pretty sure I said Saturday.”

“You said Friday. I asked twice.” For exactly this reason. Alarm filled his voice. “You said _Friday_ each time.”

“Must have misspoken each time then. But isn’t that fortunate? You’re busy Friday, but the bachelor party is on Saturday and you told me _just now_ that you’ll be able to make it.” Eyes parted from the donuts and with a smirk of jarring capacities he met Alex’s glowering eyes. “Awesome, eh? No reason why you shouldn’t be able to make it, then.”

“Did you know that my aunt Sarah turns one hundred four weeks from now? I totally forgot.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, will ya? You’re coming. And pay for the fries.”

He paid for the fries. “I will not! This isn’t funny, Matt. You know why.”

“Funny thing, Alex, I actually don’t.”

“What do you mean, you don’t? You were there for the whole fucking show!”

“And what did I see, huh? You two dated. He left you. It’s been over ten years. Get the fuck over it. I don’t want you to forgive him, Al. For one single fucking night, I want you to swallow your pride, sit in a room with him, and not start a fight. That too much to ask?”

“Yes,” he proclaimed with unwavering conviction. And demurely handed the girl a twenty-pound note whilst being most apologetic. “Sorry. We’re leaving now.” This time, it was he who grabbed Matt’s arm, yanking him away from the counter and from the girl who’d no doubt figured out who they were if he judged by her widening eyes and her twitching lips. “Move!”

“You just got out of a two-month fling with some rich heiress. Miles is dating a doctor. You moved on, both of you. What the fuck is the problem? Honestly, you have to explain this to me, ‘cause I don’t fucking get it! I’m not asking that you be friends again. Have a drink, ignore each other quietly, and that’s it.”

 _Maybe_ , if Alex had ever been given a chance to move on, that lovely scenario his drummer had come up with might actually have been an option. If only Miles hadn’t been such a fucking coward and ran away in the middle of the fucking night without ever offering even the hint of an explanation! Now, fourteen and some years later, Alex still unsuccessfully tried to make sense of it. If he went to that bachelor party, he’d attack Miles the second he’d come face to face with him because it’d be the first time in over a bloody fucking decade that he’d be available and in reach and at the mercy of Alex’s over-stewed anger. “I can’t fucking come!”

Matt tore into the fries. “We’ll see about that.”

Annabel took off the lid of her low-carb, soy milk coffee and breathed it in. “Mmh, sooo good. Want some?”

Alex, grabbing his extra cream, extra foam, extra caramel hot chocolate, pulled his nose up and shook his head. “No thanks, darlin’.” He could smell the lack of redeeming qualities of her no-sugar and extra-tasteless coffee from two feet away. “Glad you could join me this afternoon for a bit.”

The _Gucci Ophidia Top Handle in Black_ hung from her bent arm and she kept sneaking concerned looks its way. He’d picked her up there, at _Gucci_. It had become an odd habit of theirs. She’d go shopping, spent ridiculous amounts of money which her father had made selling overpriced goods to underpaid foreigners, he’d wait for her to finish, and then they’d go for a coffee. She’d parade her new bag or some other frilly thing around and he’d vent about his band members. In the old days, they’d finish the day with a round of sex before parting ways. But she’d told him she was falling in love with him and so he’d quickly pulled the plug on the sex-part. “Matt’s lost his mind, you know? Wants me to party with a total douche who—” Alex short-stopped himself from revealing too much. After all, she tended to gossip a lot. “He wants me to make nice with some asshole from my past like it’s fucking nothing! It’s not fucking nothing. It’s a whole fucking lot to ask and he knows it!”

“Poor baby,” she cooed and batted an opulent set of faux lashes at him. It could be that it was supposed to be flirty, or intriguing, or any that sort of thing. Then again, it was also possible that the lashes were becoming too heavy or that some had gotten tangled.

Curious, he leaned closer to inspect.

She smiled widely.

 _Shit_. It had been flirty. “Eh…yeah. Poor me.” Swiftly retreating, Alex directed his gaze to his hot chocolate and scratched his head awkwardly. “Anyway. I wish he’d stop meddling with my life. Like I said, the guy…he’s a huge fucking asshole! Selfish and arrogant and conceited and his opinion of himself has completely blown out of proportion!” Merely thinking about it made his blood boil. “If you read his interviews, you’d think he reinvented music!” And the damned music critics were eagerly playing into it. “Thinks of himself as some sort of musical God or whatever and—”

“Matt, you mean?”

“Matt?” Alex blinked, his rage short-stopped. “No. Miles is the asshole!”

“Who is Miles?”

“That’d be me.”

The chocolate slipped from Alex’s hands. “Fuck!” His boots were coated with foam and cream and hot liquid, all of it seeping into the fine Italian leather. Around them, people began to stare, taking in the lunatic who couldn’t even hold on to a fucking paper cup. Next to him, Annabel checked her damned purse in panic. And behind him, two men stood and simply observed in silence.

One was Miles. Long before he’d finished his snarky introduction, Alex had recognized that voice. That low timbre, a bit of a scratch in it, interspersed with traces of his Liverpoolian upbringing. It had been softer years ago. Nice and sweet. Vowels and letters had come out slow, much like a caress. These days, he was a high-minded prick and spoke like one, too. Clipped and querulous. The hesitation of once had gone away. Nature abhorred a vacuum, though, and in lack of gentler qualities, it had filled with a pomposity big enough to block out the entire fucking sun. Blowing out a breath, stoically dragging his eyes off the floor, and making no rush of facing him, hoping he might disappear if he waited long enough, Alex speculated mystified what he’d done wrong in life to deserve having his first encounter with him while stained with chocolate and accompanied by stupid.

As he battled his resolve to meet Miles’ gaze, Annabel dabbed his arm. “My _Prada_ heels are not taking kindly to your spilled calories.”

“I suppose very few things in life take kindly to spilled calories,” philosophized somebody. Lifting his head a tad to attach a face to that tedious assessment, Alex found himself across a man in a truly bizarre outfit and those style choices made him knit his brows with disapproval. A polo tee in pastel blue, beige bootcut cargo-pants, and a camel-colored wool coat. That odd person was also sporting a pleased smile and a cup of coffee or other. “I’m Daniel,” said Daniel.

“Annabel,” said Annabel and extended her hand with the inbred expectation of having the gesture returned instantaneously. “You’re funny.”

 _He’s not_ , grouched Alex inwardly, feeling confident enough to make that judgment based on a single sentence. And then, at long last, he came face to face with Miles.

_Damnit!_

He’d aged well. The countless pictures and clips he’d seen of him through the years had hardly done him justice. Not even the few times he’d snuck in to see him perform or that one time when…never mind. The distance between them had played him a fool. Up close, he looked fucking stunning. Fit and tan and so very _Miles_. Unlike his partner, who’d apparently crawled out of on old _Dawson’s Creek_ episode only to find himself stuck in a London winter too fashionable to properly participate in, Miles didn’t – as though he ever would – wear fucking cargo pants. No. He was dressed impeccably. Tight blue jeans. Fitted black sweater. Black leather jacket with a fur collar. Alex nearly bit a hole into his cheek to not lick his lips at the sight.

He doubted Miles suffered the same problem, what with Alex standing there like a melted chocolate bar.

Dead air spread between them, growing thicker with each second.

A million options crossed Alex’s mind. Quips, jokes, rude words, a few curses, some insults he’d always wanted to say out loud and never had an opportunity for. The list was limitless. But in the end, he said nothing. The long-held belief that it was Miles’ job to make the first step still lived extravagantly inside his mind.

After a moment of her gawk ping-ponging back and forth between them and not receiving the introduction she was hoping for, Annabel’s hand once more darted out. “You’re Miles, then.”

Miles shook it. “Miles Kane.”

A wide smile blew up on her face. “Oh, I knew you looked familiar. My little sister is a huge fan of yours. Calls you one of the best musicians of this decade!”

 _Oh, please!_ Alex scoffed hard. One that started out in the low parts of his throat, gained momentum in the top region, and bloomed to full size once free of restraints.

A reaction Miles countered with a single arched eyebrow. One of two perfectly curved ones that topped off brown eyes. Albeit ‘brown’ as a descriptive term Miles’ eyes hardly justice did. They were more than brown. They were copper, but darker, maybe bronze, but more valuable. The shade he imagined gold would be if somebody turned the light down and lit a candle and everything began to glow. Expressive as always, they were much more talkative than his lips were. On the other hand, Miles’ lips said more with a kiss than with a word anyway. They could tell entire epics with just a single touch. Long ago, he loved listening to those tales for hours on end.

Now, his mouth sat motionlessly. But the eyebrow ticked. A sign of unmet anticipation.

If he didn’t know better, Alex would think Miles assumed him to make the first step or say the first word. _Is he bloody mad? As if!_

Fine fingers ran over his hand. He flinched, startled out of his little staring indulgence. Thank God he’d dropped his cup already. Otherwise, he’d do it now! “What the—?” Gaping, pulling away, Alex quizzed Annabel’s brash act. “We don’t do that!”

“Holding hands?” Annabel rolled her eyes with a sigh that sounded an awful lot like ‘moron’. “No, Alex, we don’t. I know. Your two thousand calories totally ruined my pumps and it’s getting uncomfortable standing in them. I’m not after some ridiculous bit of handholding, you freak. I was holding on for support! I’ll invoice you for the shoes, FYI.”

It didn’t escape his notice that in front of him, Miles quickly let go of Daniel’s hand, or that Daniel’s overall air of interest and confusion made room for an offended mien. “Do that,” Alex ground out.

Daniel spoke up, only too eager to probe, “You’re not dating, then?”

Alex was tempted to ask what it was to him but the leggy blonde at his side took over and volunteered entirely too much information. “We’re not. He doesn’t date. Not long term anyway. Commitment allergies,” she joked.

Polo-tee laughed. “Don’t have that problem with him.” His fingers fished for Miles’ and when they made contact, it was stiff and unyielding. It spurred Daniel on, and he tried with more effort. “Right, sweetheart? We’re _very_ committed.”

“Are you?” wondered Alex with the sugary-sweet tone of somebody who’d waited fourteen years for this chance of justified assholery and couldn’t possibly find more pleasure at this moment. “Aww. How sweet. Enjoy it while it lasts…”

Miles had said absolutely nothing until now, not to him at any rate, but to Alex’s complete and utter astonishment his quietness rose to an entirely new level as his own words faded out on a jeering ellipsis. There was a graveness to him, an almost threatening stillness. The calm before the storm. A bomb about to go off and Alex was kindling with the fuse. Everyone would run scared. Everyone should run scared.

Alex wasn’t everyone. His smile turned saccharine. “One day and _poooof_ …”

“Poof?” asked Daniel, his mouth warping around the word in perplexity, a state of mind accentuated by the furrows on his forehead. “That meaning what?”

“Oh-oh,” mocked Alex, bringing theatrics into it when he raised his hand to his mouth and mimicked a gasp. “I fear I’m about to spoiler you.”

“To do that,” seethed Miles through grinding teeth, burning his stare into Alex’s eyes – the sort of warning that nations issued ahead of gruesome wars, “he’d have to have an understanding of the plot.”

It was the first time in more years than he had fingers that he and Miles were talking and yet, they weren’t talking to each other. The verdict on who’d make or had taken the first step was still out. For some insane reason, Miles sounded hurt. Worse, even. He had the guts to sound insulted.

“Plot, huh?” Alex’s eyes iced over as he grabbed some napkins from the nearest table and leaned down to wipe his shoes. He took his time, being painstakingly meticulous until the leather was free of stains, then straightened back up. This time, it was he who crosshaired in on Miles. He didn’t fear the war. It were the preceding years that had taken a toll on him. “You want to know how it all unfolds? My hand is Miles. The dirty napkin is you.” He tossed it into the trash bin some feet away. “And that’s how the story goes. Word of advice, Daniel? Two, actually. Polo-tees are _so not_ 2018\. And prepare to be left. Annabel, let’s go to _Prada_ and buy some shoes.”

“Okay.”

**#Miles**

What strange sentiment this was, the one settling and expanding inside of him. An odd mixture of pain and anger, frustration and understanding, annoyance and guilt. A part of him felt for Alex. Sympathized with him. After all, Miles _had_ left him in the middle of the night. He _had_ behaved horribly. He deserved being called out for his shitty actions. And yet, to be judged bad so wholly, so fundamentally based on a single wrong deed, was that fair? He hadn’t tossed Alex into the trash the way he’d implied. To be accused of it, of being deemed capable of discarding a person this carelessly, it cut into him in a way he hadn’t believed possible.

“That was Alex, then.”

Somebody next to him tugged on his hand. Spoke words. _Existed_. Directing his attention that way, it took Miles a good few seconds to realize that this man, this person who wore his indignation and his questions a bit too prominently on his sleeves, was actually his boyfriend.

Daniel cleared his throat. “Quite a character, huh? For somebody who broke up with you, he sure feels maligned.”

“We never broke up.” Distantly, Miles noted the concern flashing over his partner’s face. It mattered far less than it ought to, he found and figured that, too, was something he needed to give some thought. Not now, though. Not when all of his head was a scrambled mess. “Or maybe we did…”

The grip on his hand got firmer. “Either you did or you didn’t.”

“I left town.”

“ _You_ broke up, then?”

“No.”

The hand let go. “Well, you’re with me _now_ so at some point the relationship came to an end, did it not?”

“‘cause I left.”

“Will you fucking look at me while explaining this shit to me?” Daniel, forever aware of proper etiquette and the impressions strangers might get of him, quickly lowered his voice. “Let’s leave and have this conversation elsewhere!”

“No.” Miles quickly followed up with a groan, vexed by the fact that this small moment in time had roundly ruined his composure and wrecked his mind into an unsorted pile of puzzle pieces. A million times he’d imagined what it’d be like to run into Alex. In no scenario ever had there been other people involved. “No talking. No discussion! Let’s just go.” He walked out.

Behind him, footsteps could be heard. And a nagging voice. “A veritable stranger just told me that my boyfriend of a year will leave me. All the while you stood there like you were seeing a ghost. We _will_ talk about it!” A hand gripped his shoulder. “The other way, Miles. Car’s parked here!”

 _Prada_ was that way.

“Go home. I need a moment to myself, okay?” He cupped the back of Daniel’s head and pecked his lips dismissively. “Be back soon. I walk. We’ll talk after.” With any luck, he’d be off to work by then and Miles could go straight to bed. “Later.”

“No, Miles!”

“Yes!” He let go and followed the crowded pavement away from the car, two blocks down. If asked about it, he couldn’t say why he was headed there. His feet simply marched on, not asking his head for permission. It was only when he arrived, that he hesitated.

_Now what, genius?_

_Will you barge in and confront him?_

_Maybe he already left?_

_Maybe he never came here?_

_There are other Prada stores in the city!_

_What if—_

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He was here, then.

Much like the pilaster he was leaning against, which simply decorated and embellished a wall which at its core was no more than common cement and plain bricks, Alex, with one leg bent and one boot propped up against the backdrop, was about to light up a cigarette and merely portrayed an image of cool detachedness and unrattled composure. Beneath, he was shaken, and his bones were rattling. Miles knew because he, too, was shaken and his bones were rattling as well.

Alex watched him. And Miles felt the weight of that scrutiny everywhere. Sweat pricked at the back of his neck despite the icy January winds of winter slapping his skin. His nerves were flaring up. He shouldn’t have come here. Why was he here? What did he intend to do? Or say?

“Well?” asked Alex, apparently speculating over the same thing. “Need new shoes, or what? Annabel is still inside. Maybe she’s up for offering styling tips. Go on, then. In with you. Buy what you’re here for.”

He squared his shoulders. “Come on, Alex. I didn’t come for shoes, you know that.”

“Do I?” The lighter flickered to life. The tobacco started to glow and he took a drag from it. A deep one. Then exhaled. “I don’t.” His head rolled back to gaze at the sky. “I don’t know anything about you. Doubt I ever did.”

It was a sharp knife with teeth of brutal honesty and he twisted it flippantly.

Taking the final steps to reach his side, Miles mirrored Alex’s position and looked up, stealing himself a second to catch his thoughts and possibly recover from that staggering stab wound. The clouds were shredded by the sharp gusts of wind. The sky was coloring itself into a darker version of blue. This late in the day, the sun was creeping toward bedtime and the insignificant traces of warmth she took with her, cruel that she was. Miles popped his collar.

_Fucking winter._

From the corner of his eye, he saw Alex pulling the cigarette from his lip and he reached over to take it from him, too late becoming aware that this was a habit they had frequently succumbed to a very long time ago and absolutely did not do anymore. Then again, as his gaze escaped Alex’s baffled look to marvel at his own hand and what it had done, he figured the little roll was already between his fingers. Might as well smoke it? ‘cause he could really use a smoke right now!

Alex snickered. “What? The famous Miles Kane, rock legend and he of the _‘uniquely melodic tones of a past and a future entwined’_ can’t afford his own fucking cigarettes?”

He took another drag, then carefully handed it back, taking utmost caution to not touch Alex’s fingers. Even a foot away from him, he recognized the crackling in the air. The same spark that always surrounded them, even years ago, far before lips ever connected. “You read the review?”

“Be honest,” demanded Alex with a vaguely amused quirk to his mouth, “the interviewer was coming on to you, was he not? ‘cause, yes, I read that shit. Professional honesty: Your last album was good. That piece of ass-kissing, though? You’re not a McCartney.”

“Got me a five-star review. Remind me, how many did you get? Three?”

“Four,” bit Alex testily.

This outburst of temper came straight at the curtesy of his injured pride and not his wounded heart. It made Miles chuckle.

“If yours was a five, mine was a six.”

“It wasn’t,” said Miles, confounded they were having a calm conversation, a few barbs notwithstanding. “You’re good. You’re not Lennon.”

Alex held the cigarette up for him. “He’s your doc, huh?”

“Dog?” asked Miles and plucked it from him.

“Doc,” repeated Alex, eyes rolling. “ _Doctor_. Matt said something like that.”

The breath in his lungs became heavier. “Yes,” traipsed Miles carefully. “He is.”

“Why a doctor?”

Surprised, Miles glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“Like, he’s about as far removed from your life as can be.” His eyes became distant as his face warped into a scowl. “He wears fucking cargo pants for crying out loud.”

Yeah. Daniel did that. It was the first time he gave a moment’s worth of consideration to the point Alex raised. “Guess because he’s that. Removed and stuff.”

“Nothing’s worse than…”

“Than what?” Trepidation set in. The tide was turning. He heard it, felt it. Had expected it. Words intoned differently. Casual indifference and harmless amusement got replaced with meaning. With gravity. An image filled his head, of himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Well,” mused Alex, “this way, if you tire of him, you can walk away while the rest of your life remains intact.”

Trigger pulled.

“That’s what you think happened?”

Alex laughed a hollow laugh. “I don’t know what happened, Miles. You never told me.”

“All the time,” it burst from him, briefly allowing the seventeen-year-old in him to escape. “I tried to tell you _all the fucking time_.”

Pushing away from the wall like a charged bull, Alex shook his head with fury. “Fucking stop right now!”

“You asked!”

“I dare you to blame this on me!”

“That’s not what I was doing! I’m fucking trying to explain—”

“Try better,” bristled Alex, stopped pacing the small stretch of pavement in front of him, and pinned him to the wall with a stare of unleashed anger. “Use _I_ instead of _you_.”

“ _I_ fucked up,” he readily acknowledged. He’d known it all along and never denied it. “Yes! I _know_ , Alex. But I didn’t wake up one day and decided to leave. It’s fucking more complicated than that.”

“Is it? ‘cause the way I remember it I woke up one morning and you were gone. No preamble. No foreboding. No warning. The night before, we had a gig. We snuck into the back of the club, we kissed, we said goodbye, and that’s the last I ever saw of you. Then, _poof_.” He snapped his fingers. “You were gone. Dropped from the face of the earth for an entire fucking year ‘til someday your name popped up on a flyer in London announcing an upcoming gig. I found out from Matt’s cousin about it.”

Miles lowered his head, excruciatingly aware of it all. “I’m sorry.”

“Good for you,” drawled Alex. A flip off.

“Al—”

“No.” A finger went up. A threat. A call for silence. “Tell me this. When you kissed me that night, when you put your lips to mine, did you know then that you’d be gone by sunrise?”

For a second, his legs buckled. The force of the question was that stumping. Yes. He’d known for little over a day by then. The plan to leave town had been formed for longer, but the specifics he’d settled on a day before. He’d debated with himself, had wrestled with himself, had wanted to tell him. Had wanted to ask him for permission, for forgiveness, had even considered asking Alex to come along. But he’d known, deep down, that he’d not only needed to leave his life. He’d needed to leave Alex as well. He’d been a fucking coward.

“Your silence is deafening, Miles. Fourteen years have passed,” resumed Alex bitterly. “And you’re still a fucking coward.” He met his eyes dead-on. “Why don’t you do what you do best and fucking _poof_ again!”

.

.

**Spoiler Chapter 4:**

#

Pulling his phone from his pocket, reading the text message he’d gotten two hours ago once more, Miles pinched his eyes, confused. “It says, _‘Miles, let’s meet for dinner. Cool new place. Dress fancy. Eight sharp. Matt.’_ Followed by the address.” He looked up, squinted, then dabbed his chin with his finger in consideration. “You’re not Matt, though.”

From the table, two bothered eyes looked up and he saw they were stuffed to the hilt with a wish to be anywhere but here. “No, Sherlock, name’s Alex. Not surprised you don’t remember.”

 _And so it begins…,_ thought Miles and rolled his eyes all the way to China and back whilst taking a seat. “Was fucking joking.”

#

“I’m sorry, alright?!” The napkin ball was flung onto the plate in frustration and he made a genuine effort to keep calm. “It’s the fucking first time I have to apologize for breaking a heart. I’m still learning.”

“Should I feel flattered that I’m the first one stubborn enough to expect an apology? You fucked up, Miles! And I don’t think you got the first idea what the fuck you’re even apologizing for.”

#


	4. Remember

**#2002**

**#Alex**

The clock struck, the bell rang, and Alex dashed for the exit, barely pausing long enough to check over his shoulder. “Come on, Miles. Hurry!” The first day of school had ended, at fucking long last, and he couldn’t possibly be happier about that. Between small tiffs and great philosophical differences, the hours had dragged on for far too long. The only good thing the day had brought with it so far was that he now had one more companion in school to commiserate with. One who happened to possess a good sense of humor, a kind heart which was a perfect match to Alex’s perpetual need for favors, and a phenomenal taste of music, judging by the bit they’d talked about it.

“Monsieur Turner,” his French teacher, Mister Chiraq, called out.

Feet froze mid-doorway. He could _almost_ touch freedom. “Yes?”

“Excusez-moi?”

Eyes rolled. He whirled around. How did one pronounce _‘Fucking what?’_ in French? “Er…oui?”

Mister Chiraq’s shoulders fell as his unvarnished disappointment slipped from his lips. “Alexander, last year you barely passed. This year has scarcely begun and already, you stood out by not paying attention and being a bad influence on the new kid. I was thinking we might be able to counter these notions of yours with some tutoring?”

Panicked eyes bulged at the thought. “Tutoring?” He might as well have suggested bloodletting. “Mister Chiraq, can’t we wait ‘til I fail the first test before discussing life support measures?”

Next to him, Miles snickered. Alex was quick to toss a grin his way. He liked that Miles found him funny. Not a lot of people did.

“We can’t,” decided the teacher. “I’ll have a chat with your mother about that. I thought I should let you know.”

“Great,” scorned Alex, mood plunging to rock bottom. “It’s set, then.”

“Come on.” Miles nudged his side. “Let’s go. No point in fretting.”

Mister Chiraq cut in. “Miles, I don’t know how it was at your old school, but here, I say when a conversation has run its course.”

“Oh, I thought you were done,” explained Miles, taking half a step forward, positioning himself in front of Alex. The protective pose caught Alex by surprise. “See, my old teachers taught me not to kick somebody when he’s down. And clearly, Alex is devastated. He hasn’t yet been given a chance to prove to you or himself that he can do better on his own. He’s already lost your trust in his abilities. You basically accused him of being a hopeless idiot. And the worst thing is, all of this is taking place while his much-beloved grandmother is slowly decaying away in an old-folks home, counting down the minutes to her last one. Poor thing is in her eighties! You’re not far from that. Is that how you want your last days to pass? Miserable and alone? Alex isn’t a bad influence. He’s barely holding on! You should applaud him for showing up at all! He didn’t get any sleep last night. Hardly ate. Can’t you see? His shirt is wrinkled ‘cause his mom was too sad to think about ironing it!”

“I…er…” His eyes took in Alex’s shoulders, which Alex now gave an extra slouch, hastily slipping into the role of grief-stricken grandchild. Mister Chiraq took off his glasses and wiped the spot between his eyes. “Your mother didn’t mention any of that, Alexander.”

Yes. His ‘beloved’ grandmother, while old, was far from dying. And if his mom found out he was telling this bullshit not only to the chemistry teacher but also to Mister Chiraq, even embellishing it and bringing his mom into the story… The prospect sent a chill up his spine. He gulped hard and gave Miles’ hand a covert slap.

To his utter shock, Miles wrapped his arm around Alex’s shoulders to give him a solid squeeze, dumbfounding him even further. “His mother can’t bear to talk about any of it. If Alex is struggling, imagine what she’s feeling like.”

“Right, right. Well – I mean, it is early, I suppose.” He put the glasses back in place and checked his wristwatch, then nodded. “The year has just begun. Let’s put a pin in this tutoring idea for now. And I won’t mention any of this to your mother. Try to pay a little more attention next time if you could. If concern about family members is taking a toll on you, you know that the school counselor has an open ear.”

_Unbelievable!_

The guy was eating the sugar-coated nonsense straight out of Miles’ hand. “Uh…yes,” said Alex, momentarily struggling to remember his voice. “Thank you!”

“Off, then.”

He spun around, grabbed Miles’ hand, and towed him out. The door fell close. The corridor cleared of students. Alex whipped his head Miles’ way and slammed the back of his hands against his chest in great awe. He’d found his master! His own Obi-Wan! “That was fucking amazing! You lie better than I do!” Stunned, he did the only thing he could think of and bowed to the new kid slash his new overlord. “Grannie would be proud of you!”

“Shh,” hissed Miles and laughed at Alex’s antics. “Let’s get out of here before we get into any more trouble!”

“With you by my side, I think I’m safe!” He flung his bag over his shoulder and they made their way out. “Are you here by foot? Got a moped. I could offer you a ride home if you need one. Or you can come along, watch us rehearse. We’re not bad, and that’s not me being arrogant. I really want to know what you think of us.”

“You do?” Miles sounded taken aback.

Alex nodded, wondering why he was. “Yeah! Here’s something you should know ‘bout me. I always want to know what people think! I’m not, like, eager for praise or whatever. Besides, if you think we suck, you need to tell me! I want to adjust, I guess. Catch the flaws before it’s too late.” They reached the parking lot. “That one’s mine. Got a spare helmet. Hold on.” He pulled up the seat of his used, scratchy, yet perfectly polished moped – a gift from his father for not having to repeat the school year. Sometimes he imagined the gifts he’d get if he scored top grades. “Ever rode on one?”

Miles took the helmet. “Few times.”

Alex got on; Miles followed.

“Hold on to me. It’s faster than it’s allowed. Jamie’s cousin fixes cars and bikes. Don’t tell anyone.” The words were a muffled blur through the thick protection. Still only wearing the button-up shirt, he felt it when Miles’ hands settled against his waist. They were warm and firm. Oddly, they were different from Matt or anyone else’s. Like they were singular hands. Of a distinctive kind. Spreading a new sort of warmth. One that was… _warmer_.

 _Jesus Fucking Christ!_ Even his thoughts were crazy today! _Warmer?_ He mentally slapped himself. _This bloody heat!_

**#Miles**

He was so shiny.

In lack of a better word, that’s what Alex Turner was.

Shiny.

A sparkly ball in a world full of dull objects.

He’d been nervous about attending this new school. He guessed everyone his age felt that way in face of changes. But school in particular was not an easy place to enter. Worried about not finding any friends, scared to make a fool of himself on day one, afraid to be laughed at for reasons he couldn’t even come up with, Miles was beyond relieved to have met Alex right away.

Judging by first impressions, Alex and his friends were the cool kids and part of the crowd everyone wanted to hang out with. In the hallways, girls giggled when he tossed ‘em a grin. He’d overheard some gushing about his thick hair and how it’d feel to pat it. Other guys awed him, it seemed. His bandmembers were the only ones ribbing him but even their words carried hidden affection. Miles knew he’d gotten lucky. Not everyone did. Yet, for some reason, it appeared to be more than just luck. They genuinely got along. Alex liked the same bands he did, had that killer leather jacket – the one that currently smelled of sweat – and he played in a rock band! They had so much in common.

How much better could it get?

 _And_ Alex was a rascal. Always tip-toeing the line between danger and fun, whether it was detention, trouble with his mom – a woman he seemed to fear as much as love – and rules in general. He clung tightly to the man sitting in front of him. “It’s really fast, Alex!”

“Told ya,” shouted Alex through the helmet. “Scared?”

“No!” _Pfew! Scared? Who was he, some ninny?_

“We’re almost there! Hold on closer. I don’t mind.”

Good for him. Miles wasn’t about to risk his perceived cool-guy image by clutching him like some bloody lifebuoy. “’tis fine!”

Alex’s hand shot out toward an old brick building whose bottom level was one long row of garages. “It’s the big one over there. Nick’s parents rented one of the garages for us. We have to pay ‘em back by washing their car, doing garden work, all that stuff. But we usually find some buggers from school to do it for us.”

“Like you do with the guy who owns the fence?”

“Yeah,” laughed Alex. “We’re very connected. Small ones apparently fear us and look up to us. Nice mixture. Very profitable for us.”

“You’re school royalty, then?”

“That’s actually a title reserved for two girls who have veritable ties to the royals. They’re, like, number two hundred in the line of succession or something. We consider ourselves more as _dignitaries._ We represent the school when we play.”

“So, you’ve played before?”

Alex parked the moped, took off the helmet, and twisted his head to find Miles’ quizzing gaze. “Not in front of people,” he conceded. “But if all goes well, we got our first real gig soon! You arrived just in time to witness it!”

Inside, the others had already set up. It was a crammed place. The floor was covered with old carpets, a shabby couch sat in the corner. A drumkit was there, some cables, a bunch of sweets, cans of coke, some bottles of beer rested in a cooler by the wall. Two acoustic guitars laid on the couch, Andy held an electric in his hands. Nick reached for his bass guitar when they stepped inside.

After a quick round of greetings, Miles leaned against the wall and just took in the whole scene as Alex headed for the acoustic.

“You didn’t bring it? You gushed about the bloody thing for two hours on the phone yesterday,” Jamie said, then cocked his head and teased, “Did you break it already?”

“It’s fucking hot and stuffy in here. Not gonna bring my baby into this shithole.”

“Alex got a _Fender_ two days ago,” explained Andy, grinning Miles’ way. “Treats it like a raw egg.”

“That’s a lie,” protested Alex with swift indignation and Miles could have sworn he saw him blush. “I treat it… _appropriately_.”

“He sleeps on the mattress while the _Fender_ gets the pillows,” Matt countered, laughing.

“I told you in confidence!”

“Oops?”

Miles laughed, too. He’d probably act just like Alex, though. A spare acoustic was left on the couch and his fingers itched to play it. He hadn’t strummed the strings in far too long, being busy with packing and moving and all that. Back in Liverpool, he’d fronted his own band and he already had three gigs under his belt. One at a childcare center, performing kiddy tunes. One at a carnival in front of a crowd of eighteen. And one at school. The whole senior class had cheered. It had been the greatest feeling ever. Then his parents had informed him of their moving plans and he’d been forced to leave the band behind.

Alex and the others didn’t know that he played as well and unless they’d ask him specifically, he wouldn’t volunteer that information. This was their thing. Butting in didn’t feel right. And so, for now, he made peace with listening. Once he had settled in, he might take up playing again. Maybe form his own band.

Guitar ready, Alex stepped up the mic. “Let’s start.”

They did.

It was a good sound. Lots of guitars, which Miles loved. There could never be too many guitars. Everyone played well. And the songs weren’t covers, from what he could tell. They were originals. Most of ‘em, anyway.

“I wrote some of it,” admitted Alex between songs. “Not all. Riffs, drum beats, lots of that they come up with. My job is lyrics.”

“You’re really good at that.”

It made him smile. “Yeah?”

Miles nodded and carried on watching. Mostly, though, he watched Alex. He was a bit of a riddle, the guy. He was detached in school, aloof and almost too aware of how people reacted to him, which was obvious since he nearly constantly pushed people for a reaction, whether it was a girl’s blush or a guy’s envy. Here, however, surrounded only by those he’d personally selected, he was different. Almost shy. As if his perfected art of bullshitting wasn’t working.

He was fascinating. Like an onion, made of infinite layers. Miles wondered if anyone had ever been allowed to peel away more than one.

“You guys are incredible,” he said, later, after rehearsal had finished. Nick, Andy, and Jamie were squeezed onto the couch, Matt remained behind the drums and Alex had joined Miles on the floor, stretched out on the back, gazing at the ceiling where spiderwebs and dust connected. “People are gonna love you!”

“They better,” hoped Alex. “We’ve been trying for a long time to get a gig.” His head rolled to the side.

As did Miles’. “Trust me, once they hear you, they’ll book you for everything.”

“Weddings,” joked Nick.

“Funerals,” quipped Jamie.

“Hey,” shot Matt. “Imagine us playing _Highway To Hell_ as the casket goes down.”

Andy tossed a bag of M&Ms his way. “That’s dark, man!”

“That’s Matt,” snickered Alex. “What time is it?”

“Seven-ish,” said Nick.

“Fuck!” Jumping upright, Alex scrambled for his belongings. “Mom’s gonna freak! I’ll be late for dinner. Miles, come on! We have to hurry!”

“I can catch a different ride home,” he offered.

“Why? Let’s go!”

“You really don’t have to do this.” The helmet had tangled his hair into a mess and he combed through it with his fingers, smoothing it out. “I don’t want to intrude. Or, like, make any trouble!”

“You said your parents are out tonight, dinner with your dad’s new boss. And mom always cooks too much anyway. Besides, this way, I’ll have a reason to take you home after and catch a cigarette before returning home. I’m selfish, nothing more.” He fished for his housekey.

The door pulled inward. “Alexand—” A man in his forties redirected his sight from Alex to Miles. “Who are you?”

“Miles Kane, Sir.”

“New friend, dad.” Alex took the two steps to the door at one, gave his father a quick hug, then slipped past, into the hallway. “Moved here. What’s for dinner? Miles, hurry, will ya? I’m hungry.”

Alex’s father shrugged. “You heard the boy. He’s hungry.” A smile tugged on his lips. “I’m David. Call me that.” Before he made room, he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Did Alex wear his helmet? And did you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Did you see the band practice, was it good?”

Miles nodded enthusiastically. “Really good!”

“Come in, then.”

“MILES,” yelled Alex. “HUNGRY!”

“Alexander,” droned a stern female voice. “Sit down and be quiet, will you?”

“But mom, they’re dragging their feet and—”

“Who is this Miles, and why didn’t you tell me you were bringing a friend over? I only have brussels sprouts for three peop—”

“He can have mine,” volunteered David.

“Or mine,” added Alex readily. “You know Miles. He’s the new one you had in English.”

“The little comedian who decided to disrupt my _Shakespeare_ lesson?” A finger curled around her gold-framed glasses and Misses Penelope Turner, as she’d introduced herself to his English class earlier today, raised an eyebrow at Miles, who lingered awkwardly in the doorway. “I should have known my boy would find you. Trouble always attracts another…”

Lids lowered, Miles quickly sat down.

Alex leaned over, eyes curious. “What did you do?”

“Was supposed to read a part of _Romeo and Juliette_ out loud. Might have overdone it.”

“Read it with a scouse accent,” informed Penny, setting the brussels sprouts down onto the table. She pointed the cooking spoon at him with a warning. “Do it again and I’ll have you learn the play in its’ original form by heart. Understood?”

“Yes, Mam.”

“It’s Mam at school. Penny in this house. _I_ will kindly forgo my sprouts. All of you will get to enjoy some.”

“Yey,” mumbled David.

Miles chuckled.

Alex smirked. “Her official welcome. You just got accepted.” Hungry that he was, he actually did dig into the vegetables. “That accent…like that idea.”

Penny groaned. “Of course, you would.”

“Not gonna do it. Don’t have an accent!” Bringing his hand up, shielding his mouth, Alex leaned over once more, his shoulder touching Miles’. “Teach me later.”

“You got it,” he whispered back.

**#2018**

“Fucking hell! I got played.”

Miles came to a halt in front of the white cloth-covered table. Two lit long-stem candles set in the center. Silverware was artfully arranged around pristine white porcelain, topped off by intricate birds made of linen napkins. Glasses for red and white wine set next to ones for water. Two chairs were at the table.

Alex sat on one.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, reading the text message he’d gotten two hours ago once more, Miles pinched his eyes, confused. “It says, _‘Miles, let’s meet for dinner. Cool new place. Dress fancy. Eight sharp. Matt.’_ Followed by the address.” He looked up, squinted, then dabbed his chin with his finger in consideration. “You’re not Matt, though.”

From the table, two bothered eyes looked up and he saw they were stuffed to the hilt with a wish to be anywhere but here. “No, Sherlock, the name’s Alex. Not surprised you don’t remember.”

 _And so it begins…,_ thought Miles and rolled his eyes all the way to China and back whilst taking a seat. “Was fucking joking.”

“You suck at that.”

“Ooh, what an insult.” He clutched his heart. “My soul’s weeping.”

“ _Still_ not funny.”

The waiter appeared. “Would the gentlemen like a glass of our finest _Cabernet Sauvignon_? I was asked to inform you that the bill is already taken care of and the table is yours for the entire night. A gentleman with the name Matthew J. Helders The Third would like to extend his kind greetings and wants you to enjoy…” The black tails dressed man cleared his throat. “ _‘A romantic evening of fond recollections’_ and, furthermore, he expressed his hopes that _‘you will remember what drew you to become friends a long time ago_. _’_ ”

“Does he, now?” Alex slouched into the chair and pulled the knot of his tie loose. “What with it being so much easier to remember why we’re _not_ friends anymore.”

“Sir, if I may?” The waiter, perfect example of discreetness and etiquette, tilted a small bit forward, gave the tie a pointed look, and quietly put forth, “This establishment comes with a dress code.”

“Of course it does,” replied Alex with bleak resignation, as though he’d just been told to step back into his prison cell. Fingers returned to the knot. Put it back in place. “Happy?”

“Delighted,” he said dryly.

Miles chuckled, feeling greatly entertained. “I like him.”

“Naturally,” snarled Alex and began to play with the fork. “You got him for a night, pay the price, and walk away. No hard feelings.”

“He’s so much funnier than you.”

“Bite me.”

“Wine, please.”

“Got scotch?”

“Take the fucking wine, Alex.”

“Choke on it,” bit Alex back.

Filling both red wine glasses, the waiter quietly disappeared.

Miles put his phone onto the table. “I presume you got the same text from Matt?”

“Mine’s less kind.”

“Is it, now?”

“We haven’t even ordered yet and I’m getting the feeling we’ll run out of insults before the appetizers arrive.”

“Yeah, well,” remarked Miles, annoyed as he was, and drank some. “I’m not the one with the piss poor mood.”

“No,” conceded Alex quickly, promptly adding, “you’re also not the injured party, here.”

This time, Miles reclined into his chair, blowing out a dense breath. Words came out labored. “I _tried_ to apologize, Alex.”

Eyes raised. “You did? Didn’t register.”

“You blew me off,” Miles tossed back. His hands went for the napkin, destroyed the bird, and crumpled it into a far less sophisticated ball of fabric. A stress outlet. “I’m fucking trying.”

“Try fucking harder!”

“I’m sorry, alright?!” The napkin ball was flung onto the plate in frustration and he made a genuine effort to keep calm. “It’s the fucking first time I have to apologize for breaking a heart. I’m still learning.”

“Should I feel flattered that I’m the first one stubborn enough to expect an apology? You fucked up, Miles! And I don’t think you got the first idea what the fuck you’re even apologizing for. You think this is some teenage love shit gone wrong? You think just ‘cause we were seventeen it was harmless and shallow and fucking worthless?” He sat up, staring at him. “I loved you. You were the most important person in my life. It didn’t matter that you were the first one I loved, or the first _guy_ I loved, or even the first one to break my heart. The pain nearly killed me, Miles. The ground beneath my feet was gone in an instant and I fell. For weeks and weeks, it was all I did. I called everyone we knew. I called your parents and begged them to tell me where you went. When you left, you took everything with you. Our band became a place of cutting memories. My bed was cold no matter how many blankets I used. I saw you walking down the halls of my school like a ghost that haunted me. I had so many questions. You didn’t leave me with an ending, Miles. You just left.”

Miles seized the glass of red wine and downed the rest of it in one as if trying to swallow the truth he’d just been told. Ever since meeting him in that coffee shop, hearing him call him an asshole and conceited, they’d traded a barb or two, scraped the surface of what really stood between them, only to part with issues remaining unresolved. For more than a decade he’d known that he’d screwed up big time and he’d regretted it ever since. It was only now, as he tried to make amends and failing miserably, that he began to understand how much he’d meant to Alex back then. He’d never known.

He’d always thought that he’d been the one madly in love with Alex. How could Alex have possibly loved him as much? Alex was magical. Always had been. From day one, he’d been a majestic comet. A star burning brighter than anything else he’d ever seen. How could somebody who’d attracted looks by simply walking down a corridor or singing beautiful songs full of feelings or being perfect in any sense of the word have been equally in love with _him_? The seventeen-year-old he’d been back then hadn’t allowed himself to believe that. And the grown-up he was now wasn’t prepared to hear it.

“I’m so sorry,” said Miles again, his mind too ill-equipped at the moment for a more elaborate attempt. His voice, however, was firm and as empty as Alex might deem those words, he did speak from the heart. It was a plea to be believed. An effort to explain. Fixating on the plate in front of him, he scratched his ear, not knowing what else to do with his hand, and fought his way ahead. “I couldn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t…”

Weary, Alex looked up from the empty plate in front of him, scarcely raised a brow, and waited.

The silence between them was ripe with expectation. Would he ever meet it? Would any of his explanations, his reasons ever suffice to ease the pain he’d caused? Miles tried again. “I had to go, Alex. I _had_ to go. I know you won’t believe me, but I wanted to tell you. Hurting you was the last thing I sought to do.”

“Why did you, then?” asked Alex angrily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lifting his head, he met Alex’s eyes which glowed with questions. How far removed from the rock star he was now. The man sitting across was no longer the Alex Turner famous for his sly grins and sexy lyrics. It was the forlorn teenager he’d left behind. The sight broke Miles’ heart. Guilt affected his voice, cut it in half. “I was afraid you’d ask me to stay and I would have stayed because I loved you. I loved you so very much.” He’d known, of course, that Alex had been in love with him. He’d felt it in his kiss. Had seen it in his eyes. He’d heard him say it to him. But that he’d done more? That he’d loved him? Truly loved him? That he’d suffer more than a small, easily forgotten heartbreak? Those thoughts had never occurred to him.

“Did it _ever_ cross your mind that I would have come with you?! If you’d just told me. If you’d fucking asked…”

Sometimes, he’d hoped for that. In the end, however, it wouldn’t have changed anything. “I had to go _alone_ ,” he told him quietly.

Like he’d just been hit in the chest, Alex recoiled and with a bleeding wound of his own, Miles was forced to watch as Alex inhaled and exhaled, in slow repetition, trying to recover from yet another blow. “Why?!”

Miles’ gaze became somber. “Do you really not remember?”

**#September 2002**

“Alex, is that you?” Penny Turner called from the kitchen that late Friday afternoon, her words hard to make out over the loud footsteps of Alex racing up the stairs.

“Yes! We’ll be right down for dinner! Miles is staying the night!” Throwing a grin over his shoulder once he reached the last step, Alex came to a sudden halt.

“Careful,” hissed Miles, nearly running into him. “What is it?”

“I should warn you. I didn’t tidy up.”

A snort. “Have you ever?” In the three weeks he’d known him, he’d been over more than a dozen times. He’d never seen a room more chaotic than Alex’s. Strangely, Alex seemed to strive in chaos. Unsorted records, strewn clothes, all that, it made him energetic.

“It’s worse.” He pushed the door open and stepped aside for the big reveal.

Miles gaped. “What the… No shit!” As if a laundry bomb had exploded. “I can’t see your bed anymore!”

Laughter from Alex. “It’s bad, I know. Got into trouble with my mom this morning because of it. We gotta fix this—”

“ _We_?” If possible, his eyes got wider still. “What do I have to do with it?”

From behind, hands came to rest on his shoulders. “You’re my _mate_ , that’s what.” Alex nudged him further into the room. “I was looking for my grey shirt. The one I wore last Saturday when we hit Stella’s party. Wanna wear it tomorrow, at the gig.”

“You’re not gonna find it here.”

“In this chaos? No,” agreed Alex readily, dumped his backpack into the corner, and hiked through the cotton-littered wilderness until he reached his desk, against which he leaned his hip.

“No,” chuckled Miles. “I mean, like, in this house. You left it at my place when you stayed over. Mom washed it, thinking it was mine. Got mad ‘cause it reeked of cigarette smoke.”

“Should thank me I didn’t spill any drinks or shit like that.”

“You’re giving me a bad rep, you know?”

“In school or at home? ‘cause you’ve gotten quite popular in school thanks to your ties to the _Smoking Monkeys_.”

“Oh,” ribbed Miles, “is that so? Here’s me thinking they like me for my stellar sense of humor and my striking, good looks.”

“Pretty sure they love your humble attitude.”

Miles sat down on what he assumed was the foot of a bed. It could also be an unstable pile of sweaters, so he did it carefully. “What’s so important you had to show me before dinner?”

He reached into the desk drawer. “Swear you won’t laugh?”

Holding up his hand, making the ‘rock on’ sign, Miles gave a solemn nod.

Alex flung a CD his way. “What do you think?”

“Of your CD?” He’d seen it before. Listened to it countless times. Alex had pushed him for a detailed review, the kind of long-winded oral report he didn’t even bother whipping up for a homework assignment. “It’s good, I told you!”

“You said ‘amazing’,” muttered Alex, “but who cares. Turn it around. Look at the cover.”

A sudden burst of laughter broke free.

And in response, Alex tossed a smelly sock at him. “You swore not to laugh!”

“Sorry,” wheezed Miles, trying to stop. “You signed it?”

Alex shrugged, embarrassed now. “Not just me. We all did. We got ten. We’ll sell ‘em for double. I’m offering it to you first.”

His jaw dropped. “You want me to pay for it?”

“Well, I’m saving up for a _Gibson_ acoustic,” explained Alex defensively. “It’s expensive.”

“No kidding. You got a thing for fancy guitars and want me to finance you?”

At that, Alex aimed his sight elsewhere. “If you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

“It sounds bad in any way.”

“Fine. Keep it for free.”

Miles eyed the item in his hand with skepticism. “Pretty sure it’s worth more without all of your swirly signatures.”

Another sock hit him.

Volleying it back, Miles gave the CD a closer look. “Where’s your name?”

“Can’t read?” Alex pushed away from the desk and sat down next to him, hip pressed to hip, his finger pointing at the one in the bottom corner. “The one right here.”

He squinted hard. “That’s a lot of loops.”

A nod. “Practiced it. Looks cool, eh? Or not?”

“No, it does look cool. But it’s very… _much_.”

He frowned. “So?”

“What if you have to sign hundreds of CDs one day. Or, like, thousands. Or walk red carpets and sign stuff. Shouldn’t your signature be short and easy?”

“Good point,” agreed Alex with a faint nod, giving the idea some thought. After a moment, he plucked the CD from Miles’ hands. “I have to keep this.”

“What?” He grabbed it back. “It’s mine. It’s a gift.”

“Nope.” Fingers took it from him. “Needs a redo.”

“If you change your signature, then this one has special value. It’ll be a rare collector’s item in the future! Who knows, maybe I’m washed up and broke one day and need to sell this baby to make rent!”

“If you ever need a place to stay, you come to me,” said Alex quietly and with such casual sincerity that Miles briefly forgot what they were talking about. This time, Alex was the one slipping the CD back into Miles’ hand. “Do you really believe we’ll be successful one day?”

“Are you joking? You’re gonna fill arenas and stadiums and headline _Glastonbury_ and do all that stuff!” He genuinely thought so. What little he’d seen and heard of Alex and his band had blown him away. They were that good! “You’re gonna tour all over the world and write music history!”

“Er…yeah, well,” Alex mumbled, his slight blush making Miles smile. “You’ll always be our extra special VIP guest. The only one allowed backstage and in our dressing room!”

“I’ll be your one-person entourage!”

“BOYS,” called Penny. “DINNER!”

Alex jumped up. “Our best mate.”

Miles followed him out. “I’ll get perks and keep the groupies in line.”

“You could be our manager!”

“Nah. Then I’d have to work. I’ll just enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

“Do it,” said Alex with a chuckle. “Mister Number One Fan!” 

.

.

** Spoiler Chapter 5: **

#

Alex put his fork spoon down, having finished the last of his soup. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, put it away, drank a sip of wine, and kept his gaze firmly on Miles, who’d mirrored his actions almost to a T. “I remember how happy we used to be. How we shared everything.”

“I remember how entwined our lives were.”

“See,” carped Alex, shaking his head with disapproval, “you say it as though it’s a bad thing and I don’t get that.”

#

“Fuck you, Alex.”

“Deliberated how long it would take you to say it,” taunted Alex, well aware that he was pushing him. But he’d suffered under a suffocating cloud of questions for far too long and until Miles properly and with fucking concise words explained to him why he’d stolen himself away in the middle of the goddamned night, he’d bloody fucking not give a shit if he hurt his feelings or not. “We haven’t even reached the main course yet. Think we’ll get to throwing fists before or after?”

#


	5. Secret

**#September 2002**

**#Alex**

They were late as it was. Alex was directly behind Miles, his hands nudging against his friend’s back, a silent urge to hurry as he already rushed to unlock the front door. “Come on, Mi. It’s bloody Friday. Traffic’s a fucking—”

The door pulled inward. Miles’ mother stood on the other side, blocking the entrance. With a scolding glower and a rigid posture, she was far from her usually welcoming self. “I was waiting for you, Miles.” Hands went to her waist.

“Mom,” gulped Miles, sensing trouble.

Alex could tell. He sensed it, too. And she wasn’t even his mom! “Misses Kane,” he greeted, hastily offering a smile. “Looking nice today.”

She ignored him. Pointedly so. _Definitely trouble,_ thought Alex.

Her attention turned toward Miles. “I ran into your French teacher today,” she informed her son with the sort of voice that made it obvious they hadn’t discussed the weather or steaks.

Miles’ body slouched. He deflated. Alex felt for him. His mate gave his arm a nearly unnoticeable nudge. “’s gonna take a moment, I guess. Shirt’s upstairs.”

At that, Alex left him and his mother alone, a move he presumed she’d been waiting for. He sprinted upstairs in a hurry. Hopefully, she’d make it quick. Today was not the day to lecture Miles about the pitfalls of neglecting Romance languages. Greater stakes were at play! After sleeping in and being forced to clean up his room, a task Miles had generously helped him with, they’d met up with the others, done one last rehearsal, only to get lost in talks afterward. Now, with only an hour and a half left before the gig was set to begin, Alex still had to change into his lucky shirt – the only reason they’d come here in the first place – and get them halfway across the city on a moped that wasn’t nearly as fast as he’d like it to be.

Inside Miles’ room, he gaped at the sight. “Makin’ fun of my room for being chaotic…” There were pages torn from a notebook, a few schoolbooks, a failed attempt at a math assignment – he recognized it immediately for he was struggling with that one as well. “Shirt…shirt…there’s no bloody shirt!” Alex tossed stuff, scanned the bed, tossed a sweater aside, then a pair of sweats. Should he check Miles’ closet? He’d seen him open it and ransack it while he’d been in his room, so it wasn’t as though it’d be the first time that he’d see the inside of it. Alex bit his lip in consideration. After all, it could be considered an invasion of privacy. But time was running out! And Miles was stuck downstairs, enduring a reprimand. “Screw it!” He went for it. Pulled the door open. Marveled. Clearly, his mom had tidied up this one! It was organized and everything was neatly folded and, “haha!” His lucky shirt! Alex pulled it out, moved to close the door, then froze. His eyes zeroed in on a specific object. Was that? Could it be? He moved the jacket and the hangers with the pants aside and a secret revealed itself. There, in the back of Miles’ closet, hid an acoustic guitar. A good one, too. Why was it there? Did Miles play? For three weeks, they’d chatted ‘bout little else but music. He’d never said a word of it if he did. Why not?

Alex shut the closet door gradually, flummoxed by the discovery. His mind was still stuck on the instrument, coming up with reasons for its mere presence when, suddenly, he noticed a slate of items he’d brushed aside and skimmed over not even a minute ago. Items that had seemed unimportant a moment ago, items that now were unmissable. As if attacking him with their simple existence. Torn pages from a notebook, he realized, were scribbled with lyrics. He spotted one on the bed and glimpsed at it, too curious not to and yet too respectful to look close enough. Two guitar picks rested on his nightstand. A set of spare strings was on the floor by the wall, peeking out from beneath discarded sneakers.

“ALEX?!” shouted Miles from downstairs, “FOUND IT?”

He flinched as if caught snooping. “Yeah, on my way.”

Miles made music, too? Did he write songs? Did he play guitar?

And he’d kept it a secret?

Downstairs at the bottom of the steps, Miles raised his arms. “Where were you? We’re late!”

Next to him, Pauline stood, hands calmly folded. Done with scolding her son, she was back to being the kind person that she was. “Big night, right?” She cast a wide smile Alex’s way. “You’ll be great. Tell that to your friends as well. I’ll have my fingers crossed and hope you’ll get a shoutout in a newspaper or something.”

How sweet she was. Alex grinned, dreaming bigger dreams. “Or a record deal!”

“Well, yes, of course,” Pauline said, indulging his aspirations. “Anyway, good luck!”

“Thanks, Misses Kane.”

“Pauline, I told you. No coming home drunk, got it?”

Miles grasped the door’s hand, pulled it inward, and smacked a quick kiss on his mom’s cheek. “Gotta go, now. Night!”

“Thanks, Pauline,” Alex called on his way out.

“Now I get to suffer through tutoring,” lamented Miles as he took the helmet from Alex’s bike. “Mister Chiraq told her I failed his expectations by ‘un petit peu’, whatever the hell that means. Told her he’d already spoken to one of the older students and there was one very dedicated to the French language and he’d arrange for her to tutor me after school starting next Thursday. Ain’t that great?!”

“A little bit,” muttered Alex.

Miles blinked. “Huh?”

“‘Un petit peu,’” he explained whilst stuffing the shirt into his bag, “it means ‘a little bit’. You didn’t fail his expectations by a lot. Just by a bit. Begs the question if he had high expectations, to begin with.”

“Ouch,” winced Miles, his look one of perplexity as he clutched his heart. “Did you just insult me?”

“What?” Bag stored, Alex put his helmet on. “No. Just…” Had he? “Forget it, let’s go.”

Miles got on and Alex waited for the telltale warmth of his arms snaking, as always, around his waist. The first two days, he’d hardly held on at all, almost afraid to touch him. But he’d needed to hold on. That was how this worked, how one rode on the back of a bike, by grabbing the driver to not fall off. So, to make Miles see, on day three, he’d stopped his moped, had covered Miles’ hands with his own and had properly placed them against his stomach. “Hold tight, will you?” he’d instructed. “Don’t want you to drop off.”

“’tis weird, holding you like that,” Miles had retorted, hands retreating.

“’cause you make it weird by thinking too much about it. The others do it, too. Hold on.”

“Yeah?” Clearly unconvinced, Miles had needed yet another day to actually do it. But he’d lost his hesitation down the road. Now, he no longer required verbal consent or being told to do it. He just did. And Alex considered it a sign of budding trust. Touching another person was intimate, even though, in this case, it was for a greater purpose. It was because of this physical connection that he rarely ever invited others for a ride.

He’d been surprised by himself when he’d uncharacteristically fast offered one to Miles.

“Are you alright?” The concern of his friend was muffled by the loud sounds of his moped and the insulation of the helmet. “Are you nervous? You’re quiet and you never are.”

Nervous? Maybe he was that. Maybe he was angry at Miles for not telling him about his guitar and his songs because it was a distraction that allowed him to focus on something other than stage fright for a second. Then again, finding out that a friend kept secrets from you wasn’t all that nice a feeling. “Guess,” said Alex, loud to make sure Miles could hear.

The fingers resting against his stomach twitched and the hold got firmer, if only for a split second. Miles had given him a squeeze. He’d never done that before. Oddly enough, it had felt nice. Comforting, in a sense. “You’ll be awesome. Just wait! They’ll cheer you on! I know I will!”

“Can I stay the night at your place?” There it was again, that voice of his that spoke faster than the speed his thoughts required to catch on. Lately, it happened so often, and mostly, it happened in the presence of Miles. Hadn’t he planned on staying at home? Or at Matt’s, because his parents were out of town and that meant no supervision?

“Sure!”

“What a show!” Miles stumbled through the door of his parents’ house, tightly clinging to Alex’s shoulders for support. “I bet you look gooooooood on the daaaanceflooor…”

“Shhhhh!” hissed Alex sharply, through drunken giggles. It was so fucking far past midnight, it was closer to the morning than night. “Your parents gonna wake up!”

“And we don’t want that,” shushed Miles, dread in his tone. “Then we get into trouble!”

“ _You_ get into trouble.”

“My mom will call your mom.”

“And then _I_ get into trouble,” understood Alex at the slow pace of a kid way too drunk for his age. Or any age. He grimaced at the prospect. “Be quiet! Be _very_ quiet. Don’t want trouble!”

“Don’t want trouble, either!”

“Then stop talking!”

“You stop talking!”

“Let’s just go upstairs,” suggested Alex, finger to his lips. “ _Quietly_.”

Miles nodded, soundly agreeing. He pointed at the stairs, then raised his hand bit by bit as if scouting for the mountaintop of the Everest, only to spot it and shrink at the height. “That’s a very high upstairs,” he noted. “You go first. I’ll follow.”

Alex gazed up the same hill. “What if I fall?”

“I’ll catch you,” offered Miles readily. Extended his arms. And almost toppled over.

“Assuring,” drawled Alex. “Alright.” He rubbed his palms together, preparing for the challenge. “Up it goes. One step at a time.”

“Yep. Right behind you.”

Two steps later, Alex wobbled to a halt. “Maybe we should just stay down here. I can feel the air gettin’ thin. ‘m woozy.”

Shoving him further up by placing both hands squarely on Alex’s butt, Miles shook his head. “Nope. Upstairs. Keep going.”

He stumbled on. “Stop groping me.”

“Not groping. Pushing.”

“My ass!”

“Yes,” Miles stated, lacking remorse. “It’s right there. In front of me. Can’t shove your legs, that’ll make you fall. And your back’s too high up. Hence the ass.”

He put that statement through the wringer. Questioned its logic. And, weirdly, found no flaws. “Okay.” He climbed on. A good one or two kilometers in altitude later, Alex, at long last and with sweaty skin, reached the peak. “Holy fuck,” he exclaimed with awe, blowing out a breath. “I thought we’d never make it!”

A step behind, Miles nodded. “Remind me never to climb any mountains!”

“Duly noted.”

They staggered into Miles’ room, closed the door, and collapsed onto the bed. “What a night,” Miles said. His head falling to the side, meeting Alex’s, he beamed a wide one his way. “You guys were insane! Did you hear ‘em chant for you? Some even knew your lyrics! Can you imagine? Hearing somebody else sing your songs?!”

He didn’t have to imagine it. He’d been there, seen it, heard it happen live. And he was still high from it. It was a rush he wanted to feel every single day for the rest of his life. “The club’s owner said he liked us and told us to come back someday.”

“So happy for you!”

Alex scooted further up the bed where it was soft and mellow thanks to the pillow. “You’re very kind, you know?”

“What?”

“Kind, like, nice and friendly and polite and all that.” He’d tried to stay mad at him all night, but each time he’d convinced himself that Miles was a liar and didn’t play fair, Miles had gone and cheered and smiled and paid him and the band yet another compliment. It was obvious that he really meant those praises. Which sucked, quite honestly, since that didn’t align with Alex’s efforts to paint him as a bad friend. Miles was a phenomenal friend. The kind one wished one could have. “Just sayin’, you know? ‘cause of the stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“That stuff…” he said, sleepier and with too little energy to elaborate. “Stuff…” And then he was asleep.

“Gooooood Moooooorning, my little rays of sunshine!”

Alex winced. The words were too loud. Too cheerful. Who was that, this female, who dared to barge into his sleep and tear him from it?

“WAKEY, WAKEY!”

“Quie-e-et,” he whined, trying to dull the sound by squishing a pillow against his ear. The other he pressed into the mattress. The moving mattress. Wait, what? Blinking against the bright daylight, he made out blurry shapes. More movement. Was he really on a mattress?

And what was that creaking he’d heard from nearby?

Beneath his head, something weird happened. It got rough and twitchy. If it was a mattress, he didn’t like it. It was far too temperamental. He much preferred his non-moving one.

“Get off my leg,” grunted somebody.

“Leg?”

“BREAKFAAAAAAST!” That female chipped. “Warm eggs, thick orange juice, heavy bagels, butter…mmh, warm, melted butter on hot toast with jam or peanut butter? How ‘bout it? It’s all set up for you!”

Blech. He was getting sick.

“Get off me!”

His head was jolted. Alex stared against the sunlight, straining to make sense of all this aggravating commotion. He was definitely _not_ on a mattress, that much was obvious. Not wholly, anyway. One arm drooped off the side. As did one leg. His head laid on the back of Miles’ denim-clad calf, while the rest of Miles was sprawled out next to him and taking up most of the space.

Memories returned. Liquor. Lots of it. Partying. Loud music. A very high staircase. Headache. The last one wasn’t a memory. It was a current fact. Painful, too. He clutched his forehead with one hand and groaned. “Owww.”

Pauline Turner stood by the foot of the bed, arms crossed, a devilish smirk on her usually delicate and demure features. “Boys, I warned you. Alex, I already talked to your mother. She agrees completely.”

“With what?”

“Punishment.”

“Wanna die.”

“Me, too,” moaned Miles, only now raising his head to pay attention.

She amped her voice up another tone. Made it chirpier. Like nails on a chalkboard. “My husband and I will go out today and enjoy a nice Saturday in the city and when we return, you will have vacuumed the entire house top to bottom, mopped the floors, cleaned the windows, dusted the shelves, watered every single flowerpot in this house, and you will have prepared dinner for us. Alex, your parents are coming over tonight. Make sure you prepare enough. If you can’t find the items you want to prepare, you will have to go shopping and use your allowance for that. Understood?”

“Ungh…”

“That,” seconded Alex.

“We’re off, then. See you tonight.” She exited. The sound of the door falling shut vibrated through the room like a cannonball hitting the fortress.

Miles cast a tired peek at Alex, imprints of the sheet pressed into his cheek. “What time is it?”

Alex, nearer to the alarm clock, checked. “’bout nine.”

“More sleep?”

“Yes.” The calf beneath his head came to rest still. Alex settled back in. And before long, all went black.

“You smell like a fucking ashtray,” bemoaned Miles later that day, shortly after noon, when he shoved against Alex’s hip. “Wake up and take a shower!”

“Like you don’t stink,” rumbled Alex. He was no morning person whatsofuckingever and that applied not only directly to the morning-part of the day but also to every stretch of time that followed a short nap or an extended period of sleep.

The figure to his side was relentless, continuously poking his side. “We have to get to work, Al. There’s a ton of shit we need to do.”

“I know, I know.” He moved at a snail’s pace. Stressing wasn’t going to help shit. “Shower first, work then. Take the one upstairs or downstairs?”

Miles’ eyes got bleak. “We can’t shower at the same time. That way, we end up stealing each other’s hot water.”

“But if one goes first,” argued Alex, making the situation worse, “he’s gonna use up _all_ the hot water.”

“That’s true,” conceded Miles and his tone dimmed at the dilemma. Standing in front of his closet, fishing for clothes, he sighed. “One of us has to shower cold, then.”

Alex crawled off the bed and walked up to him, suggesting, “One could leave the other some hot water?”

Eyes met. Snorted laughter. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Yeah.”

A minute later, Miles sat on the bed, holding a tracksuit, looking glum. His hand was still balled into a rock and he struggled to grasp his trouncing. “I hate cold showers. I didn’t know we played with special rules.”

“How can you not know that the T-Rex trumps paper, scissors, and the rock? Everybody knows that!”

“How do you beat the T-Rex?”

“Duh!” Alex balled both hands into one big fist, holding it up. “The asteroid?” Then he reached into Miles’ closet, withdrew another pair of sweatpants and a shirt. His eyes skimmed over the acoustic still hiding in the back. He closed the door. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll spare you some drops.”

Eyes rolled. “I’ll start cleaning up my room.”

“I’ll tackle the kitchen after I shower.”

“Are we sure that we’re done?” Miles stood in the living room, withdrew the watering can from the last leafy, green plant, and took a worried look around. “We forgot something. We must have. We only needed five hours.”

“Only,” screeched Alex from the hallway, cramming the duster back into the broom closet with the vacuum cleaner, the mop, the bucket, the broom, and a colorful variety of other shit he’d never known existed. “Five hours for cleaning is more than I ever spent on it before! Can’t lift my arms anymore. ‘m fucking hungry.” He stepped into the living room. “And we still have to prepare dinner! I’m never getting drunk again!”

“Oh yeah,” scoffed Miles, leaking doubt. “Wanna go out tonight?”

A beat. “Fine, but we’re staying at Matt’s!”

Laughter. “Alright. What should we make for dinner?”

“Whatever you got in the fridge. No interest in going shopping.”

“Noodles and tomato sauce?”

“Sounds good.” They ambled for the kitchen and found themselves in front of the fridge. The door was slammed shut. “No tomatoes, damnit.”

“Oh!” Alex pulled it back open. Withdrew a bottle of ketchup. “If we put it in a pot and heat it, no one will ever know!”

“Genius, Alex!”

“Right?”

“That means we only need to cook some noodles. Ten, fifteen minutes top. We got plenty of time left!” Once again, Miles opened the fridge, pulled out two cups of chocolate pudding, and handed one over. “Time for a well-deserved snack.”

“Fucking true!”

A moment later, both were stretched out on the couch. The first break all day.

“Miles?” Alex poked the spoon into the pudding but found little joy in it. Something else was preoccupying his mind, winning out even over his hunger.

“Huh?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you play the guitar?”

Pudding forgotten, Miles stared at him from the side. “Who told you?”

“Nobody,” said Alex, licking some sweetness from the tip of the spoon. He’d decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and not hold his keeping of a secret against him. But he needed to know, nonetheless. “Saw the guitar in your closet. There’re sheets of lyrics in your room. Guitar picks, that kind of stuff. Is it a bad thing? That you play, I mean? Can’t your parents know? I’d get it. Took me some time to admit to my parents that I make music.” He’d been afraid they’d laugh at him or call it a silly hobby. “You could have told me, though. Why didn’t you?”

“Don’t know. ‘tis not a bad thing.” A shrug dropped from Miles’ shoulders as he struggled for words. “Felt weird, I guess. Like, I’d just met you and you’d told me that you play and got a band and stuff. What if I’d gone and said, ‘hey, I play as well’?”

“I’d have said, ‘cool!’ Let’s trade techniques. That sort. I’ll teach you and you teach me.” He’d have loved it.

“I didn’t want to butt in.”

His eyebrows furrowed. Alex didn’t get it. “Into music?”

“Into _your_ thing,” mumbled Miles, embarrassed.

“It’s not _my_ thing. It’s _a_ thing.” He put the half-eaten cup of pudding away and an odd thought crossed his mind, one, if true, would actually upset him. “You thought I’d be what…like, annoyed or something?” Miles’ helpless nod had a staggering effect on him, as though he’d been shoved off balance. “Why would you think that?”

“I know that it sounds dumb, alright?” His eyes remained out of reach and Alex was left to speculate what Miles might be thinking while his friend’s words came out hesitantly. “I was glad that I’d met you. Like…I kinda never had a friend like you. Didn’t want to risk anything.”

When he’d first spotted the guitar, he’d believed that Miles had kept the guitar a secret because he was selfish. Although selfish might not be the right term. Rather, self-interested. Not willing to share his passion or expose himself to the sort of judgment Alex eagerly invited upon himself. It hadn’t crossed his mind that Miles, who walked the world with such effortless confidence, was genuinely insecure about his role in Alex’s life.

“I like you,” confessed Miles, his gaze fixed on the carpet. His cheeks were red. His fingers fidgeted with the cup. “You’re kinda funny and cool and…you know?”

What an interesting experience. He’d never heard these words from a guy before. Some girl here and there had in the past told him she found him hot. Or cute. Never like this. It wasn’t the kind of admission a guy made to another guy. Not in his world. He, Matt, Jamie, the others, they were all friends and he loved ‘em and sometimes, if a good moment came along, one of ‘em would say, ‘I love you, guys!” But never a straightforward ‘I like you’ which although technically meaning less carried that much more weight.

He knew, therefore, that it was a rare and a valuable thing he’d been told.

“Go ahead,” said Miles with a self-deprecating groan. “Make fun of me.”

“For being honest?” Alex shook his head. “No.”

Miles raised his head in surprise.

His instinct was to take offense. To fault Miles for thinking so little of him. And then it occurred to him that, even though they spent all this time together, they scarcely knew each other. They’d met a mere three weeks ago. How was Miles supposed to know how Alex would react? He gnawed on his lip, then, wanting to return the sentiment to make it clear he wasn’t some cold jock or an immature idiot. Strangely enough, he faltered in the same way he’d seen Miles do even though he’d _just_ told him that there was no basis for that. So, Alex took a deep breath and barged ahead. “I like you, too. You’re very funny. Not quite as cool,” he joked, uncomfortable about disclosing his feelings since he’d never done that before, “but you’ll get there.” A grin tugged on the corner of his lips. He tried to hold it back. It wasn’t a jest and he hoped Miles understood that he’d spoken from his heart.

At Alex’s words, a smile the size of the couch he sat on spread on Miles’ face, and the sight of it hit Alex in a way little else had ever done before. “Think I’m already there,” returned Miles, no longer shy. His joyfulness had returned.

“Yeah?” Alex’s grin blossomed large. “That depends. Really cool people play in a band.”

“I used to play in a band. My own.”

“You did?” Alex sat up. With the underlying conflict resolved, his good mood skyrocketed and, wildly curious all of sudden, he needed to know everything. He’d unearthed an entirely new side to his friend, one that was the most fascinating yet, and he yearned to know all the other things that made Miles who he was. Almost as though his world had gotten larger and he couldn’t wait to fill that empty space with more of Miles. “Ever had a gig?”

“Three. One, or, like two real ones.” Miles began to fill him in on his gigs, the covers they used to play, the few songs he’d written, the instruments he’d played.

Before long, Alex had scooted to the edge of his seat in admiration. “You once played a real _Gibson 335_?” It was the equivalent of the moon landing. How he envied him. “What’s it like?”

“Insane,” gushed Miles, no longer interested in the carpet or any other object in the room. His whole undivided attention was on Alex, who eagerly held it. “It was cherry red and brand new. The store’s owner let me play it for one song. I swear I’ll buy one the second I got the money.”

“How far away from it are you?”

“From the one I played? A lifetime!”

Alex chuckled. “I’m a little closer to the acoustic. At the current rate, I’ll have the money by the time I turn thirty. You got any demos of your old songs?”

“Some.”

He wanted ‘em. Wanted to compare notes, compare talents, writing skills, guitar skills. “Play guitar for me. Want to hear you play!”

“Wanna know how good I am?”

“Or how bad,” he teased. He’d bet he was incredible. He’d no idea why. But he knew.

The front door opened. “Boys, we’re back. And Alex, we ran into your parents outside. How’s dinner coming along?”

Alex’s elation plummeted. Dinner? Who cared about dinner, now?

Miles got up and swung a heavy smile his way. “I’ll show you after. Stay the night again?”

“Yes!”

**#2018**

Alex put his fork spoon down, having finished the last of his soup. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, put it away, drank a sip of wine, and kept his gaze firmly on Miles, who’d mirrored his actions almost to a T. “I remember how happy we used to be. How we shared everything.”

“I remember how entwined our lives were.”

“See,” carped Alex, shaking his head with disapproval, “you say it as though it’s a bad thing and I don’t get that.”

Miles remained set in his opinion. “Alex, we were seventeen. By the time I left, we practically lived together.”

“And now you live with a doctor. Not just practically, but truly.” Not something he’d expected to happen. When imagining what Miles’ private life might look like, he’d always seen him with a model or an actor. Somebody stylish. Not some bore in a white coat. If he were to be completely honest with himself, it was precisely that which bothered him the most. Daniel wasn’t an ogre, but he was a regular guy. A standard edition. There was nothing outstanding or remarkable about his looks with the exception of his severe lack of style. If Miles were to date a model, Alex could argue that he was with the model for his looks. In lack of those looks, Miles had to be with Daniel for his personality. For his character. It wasn’t sex and appearances, then. It was something deeper. Something meaningful. “What’s he doing right that I did wrong?” He asked it with interest, lacking shame for his curiosity. For the most part, he held back his judgment in hopes of an honest answer. Or tried to at any rate. “Is he awarding you that elusive _space_ I hear people enthuse about?” His features contorted at the idea. “Funny thing, that one. You love somebody yet you don’t want to spend your time with him?” A bewildering concept. “Call me an old-fashioned romantic, but I do like being in the arms of the one I love.”

“I do, too,” professed Miles.

“With him? At thirty-two? I met you too early, is that it?” Punished by bad timing. How cruel fate was. Alex laughed at his own mocking mind. “My bad, eh.”

Miles was far from amused. “I always did, Alex. I… _craved_ …you. But in the end, there’s was nothing else.”

“No,” he argued immediately. Alex didn’t share that conclusion. They’d had the band, the music, life, friends, school, family, a fledgling career, even a fan or two! There had been _everything_. Had Miles not seen it? Had he not bothered to look around? “How’s life with the doctor?” he asked after a moment, to fill the silence with noise. “Different?” After all, everything Miles used to have with Alex he now had manifold with Daniel. More music, more friends, a stellar career, endless fans.

Miles gave a small snort, full of meaning that Alex couldn’t decipher, hard as he tried. “Full of space,” he admitted eventually.

A bark of laughter. “ _Stones_ said it best. You can’t always get what you want…”

“Who says I want something else?”

Eyes caught another. “Well,” mused Alex, reaching for the wine once more because this night with its hefty moments became too much to endure while being sober. “Maybe that’s the problem. Have you ever figured out what you want? Aside from this career of yours? I always knew music meant all to you. And I didn’t mind ‘cause it meant as much to me. Other than that, though?”

Wrinkles settled onto his forehead when Miles tilted his head. “Is this your way of asking me if I plan on gettin’ married or have children?”

“No,” said Alex. “It’s me asking if you ever made up your mind about love. Your songs are about it, but none of ‘em are uplifting. Almost as though you hate the emotion by itself. You’re in a relationship and you don’t look in love, yo—”

Miles cut in, switching from mildly entertained to angry in an instant. “You decide that based on a single interaction you witnessed?”

“Yes,” stated Alex with conviction. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re madly in love and I’ll believe you. But remember, I know all your giveaways, all your tells. You could never lie to me.”

Raising his hand, sighing heavily, Miles lowered his face and rested his forehead into the divide between his index finger and his thumb, acting annoyed. “I am.”

_Ridiculous. Bloody ridiculous_ , thought Alex. “You’re such a fucking liar.”

“Ale—”

“I told you that I can tell and you go and do that? Shield your eyes from me? Could you be any more obvious?”

His voice full of resentment, Miles moved the hand away. “You’d think I’d be with somebody I don’t love?”

“You tell me! You loved me and left in the cold of the night. You think somebody would do _that_? I sure didn’t see that coming. Did you? Oh, whom am I asking? Of course, you did. You planned it, after all. ‘cause you needed _space_. Well, now you got it. Airy, wide, luxurious space. How wonderful love is, huh? Considering how madly you’re in it.”

“Fuck you, Alex.”

“Deliberated how long it would take you to say it,” taunted Alex, well aware that he was pushing him. But he’d suffered under a suffocating cloud of questions for far too long and until Miles properly and with fucking concise words explained to him why he stole himself away in the middle of the goddamned night, he’d bloody fucking not give a shit if he hurt his feelings or not. “We haven’t even reached the main course yet. Think we’ll get to throwing fists before or after?”

Miles shoved away from the table with a look of unbound disgust. “Alex and I are in love, you self-righteous, vindictive prick and—”

“Daniel.”

“What?!”

“Daniel, not Alex,” said Alex, and leaned back, arms crossed. “I’m Alex.”

“FUCK!”

“Speaking of it, is it good?” It had to be. Why else would he be with that coat hanger?

Mute and full of loathing, Miles got up and stormed off.

.

.

** Spoiler Chapter 6: **

# (2002)

“For how fucking long is this going to continue?” Alex flung his backpack over his shoulder, rolled his eyes, and grunted on his way past Miles and his long-legged French tutor with the knee socks and the short skirt.

Next to him, Matt snorted. “Jealous?”

“Of her?” bit Alex.

Matt gave a blank stare. “Of _him_!”

“’cause of her?!”

“Dude, let’s go. And get a fucking girlfriend!”

# (2018)

“You never said anything,” Miles pointed out.

“Would you have wanted me to? You never said anything, either. I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you’d have come to me.”

“And say what?”

A shrug.

From Miles’ lips, a shallow smile slipped. “Isn’t it weird? We talked so much, you and I. About the craziest, strangest, wildest things. But we never discussed the things that we should have discussed.” His finger ran along the edge of his plate, idly tracing the shape as his mind wandered back to the past. “I hoped you hadn’t heard. Back then, I mean. Part of me was embarrassed. I knew it wasn’t true what he said. That he’d done it to piss me off. I mean, _now_ , I know.”

#


	6. Shadow

Thank you so much for all your interest and love and kudos and comments! It's all greatly appreciated. 😘❤️

**#2018**

**#Alex**

He found him in the back alley by the trashcans, chatting idly with one of the servers. For a while, Alex lingered in the door, eavesdropped, watched. Listened as Miles offered his ear to the complaining employee, extending some kind and commiserating words about assholes with money and bosses who knew shit about the real world. Miles had always been good at that. Meeting people, befriending strangers, finding common ground with even the most unlikely of companions. And he knew what it was like to live a small life. His mother had worked in a butcher shop. His dad had labored away in a factory, paying with his back for a few extra pounds and some benefits that cost more than they were worth. He’d experienced first-hand what scraping money meant. What worth a single Pound Sterling held. Alex had been well-off, compared to him. His parents were far from rich. Unlike Miles’, however, his had never worried too much about money. Struggling to make ends meet or not, Miles’ parents had been the farthest from cheap, though. They’d always openly invited him for dinner. They’d done their mightiest to fulfill all of Miles’ dreams. And then, that one October, the last one he’d had with Miles, after their band had played quite a few gigs and a small bit of money was coming in – not much, but a very little bit – Miles had gone and gotten his parents a gift certificate to the fanciest restaurant in town. Alex had been there when he’d given it to ‘em. He’d witnessed the tears of gratefulness in his mother’s eyes, not for having received something but for having what she’d called an ‘incredible son’. He’d seen the proud eyes of his father. The delight when Miles had invited them both to their next show.

Even now, financially secure, wealthy even, Miles wasn’t throwing his money around. Alex had a vague notion of what his worth was, seeing as he knew what songs made these days and what tours brought in. Miles had expanded his interests, too. He was participating in fashion on the side, did a few modeling shoots.

“Sucks, man!” Pulling out his box of cigarettes, he offered one to the waiter. “Tell you what, I got a gig coming up soon. Alley Palley.” He grabbed his phone. “Leave me your number. I’ll save you some nice seats. Would that be something your girl will enjoy?”

“Oh man, thanks! She’ll freak. Huge fan of yours!”

“Happy to help. Sorry that you have to work on her birthday.”

“Nah, ‘s fine. Rent’s gone up and Fridays bring good tips.”

“You bet.”

Alex hated this. He hated that Miles had a natural talent for being generous whereas all of Alex’s attempts at it had so far come across as naïve at best and phony at worst. He’d tried helping out in a soup kitchen, but he’d done it during the holidays when everyone apparently did it. To his defense, he’d felt lonely at home and cornered at his family’s Christmas party. He’d escaped, trying to find common ground with others. They’d mocked his fancy suit. He hadn’t even paid a thought to what he’d been wearing that day. Last year, during the tour, he’d chatted with a few of the roadies while out for drinks. It had been fun and nice ‘til one mentioned a roped-off VIP area and the temperature had turned frosty after he’d not volunteered to get ‘em in.

He met plenty of people, had quite a few friends. All lived the same life he did, though. All had money. Most were fellow musicians or producers. At times, however, he needed a different view of his life. An outsider’s perspective.

“Oh, uh, excuse me, Mister Turner.” The server, done smoking his cigarette with Miles, paused in front of the door which Alex blocked, not daring to slip by the paying customer in the expensive two-piece with the silk tie.

Alex made room, let him pass, then walked out.

“Came for a smoke or came for me?” asked Miles.

“What would you prefer?”

“Depends. Plan on insulting me some more?”

“I’m mad at you,” he stated freely, making no secret of it. “I got years of pent-up anger inside of me. Prepare for the worst.”

Miles nodded. Indulged his uprightness with benevolence. “Would it help if I apologized again?”

Would it? “No.” Hearing him say ‘sorry’ took away nothing from the hurt and the betrayal. Even if a part of him believed that Miles was genuinely repentant about all of it, the wound, even know, felt fresh and inflamed. He didn’t need another Band-Aid. At this point, he needed time. He needed for it all to sink in. “I heard you the first time.”

“Cigarette?” offered Miles. A ridiculous alternative.

One he gratefully accepted. One which offered a convenient change of topic. “You smoke too much. You _just_ had one with the waiter.”

“Been lurking in the shadows, huh?” Miles shrugged, then chuckled. “Only seems as if I smoke a lot. Daniel pops a vein each time he sees me do it. No longer allowed to smoke in my own apartment.”

“You shouldn’t,” agreed Alex, albeit for entirely different reasons. “Tanks the property value. No longer smoke in my home, either.”

“You?” His brows knitted with irritation. “‘scuse me, but _you_?” A snicker. “You hid cigarettes on your roof, in the garden, the toilet, even inside your mom’s broom closet.”

“And now I smoke on the balcony, like the proper and concerned apartment owner that I am. People change.”

“True.”

Four little letters, heavy as fuck. Alex leaned against the bricks of the wall. “Tell me about the night.”

Miles didn’t need elaboration to know what he was talking about. His gaze dropped, as did his tone. “Waited ‘til my parents were asleep, grabbed the duffle I’d hidden in the backyard, and walked twenty minutes ‘til I reached the train station. Took the one to London, stayed at a friend’s place. Settled in. Tackled one day at a time.” He finished the list; took a drag from the cigarette.

Alex did, too. “Did you ever think about calling?”

“Every single second,” admitted Miles, lost in the night sky above which, not surprisingly, held far more appeal than the dirty ground beneath their feet. Not a star in sight. Just coldness and a billowy cloud of cigarette smoke. “I missed you. All the time. You were the first thing I thought about when waking up and the last thought on my mind before falling asleep.” 

To this day, Alex still thought about Miles. Sometimes, he found himself in bed at night, wondering if he rolled over, by magic, Miles might be there. And he never dared to look, afraid of the crushing disappointment when, inevitably, he’d discover the spot empty. What did that say about him? To long for a person who’d crushed your heart? To miss somebody who’d left years ago? Did Miles ever have these moments? Did he still miss him? How badly Alex wanted to ask. How terrified he was of the answer.

“In London, everything was new. A distraction. It helped,” confessed Miles.

“In Sheffield, everything was familiar. A memory.” Alex tossed the dead cigarette away. “Let’s go back in. I’m hungry. Damned soup did shit. Unless that’s too constricting, you know? Following me anywhere? I wouldn’t want to take the wheel from your hands. Impose on your _space_ to do as you wish.”

“I know you understand what I’m trying to explain to you,” grieved Miles with frustration. “Are you deliberately mean?”

“Did you deliberately break my heart?”

“I told you—”

“And I listened.” He headed for their table. Flagged the waiter down. Was halfway done with the order for another drink by the time Miles sat down. “…three cubes, glass half full.”

“I’ll have the same,” Miles said.

“Do you even know what I’m havin’?”

“It’s strong. That’s all that matters.”

**#November 2002**

“For how fucking long is this going to continue?” Alex flung his backpack over his shoulder, rolled his eyes, and grunted on his way past Miles and his long-legged French tutor with the knee socks and the short skirt.

Next to him, Matt snorted. “Jealous?”

“Of her?” bit Alex.

Matt gave a blank stare. “Of _him_!”

“’cause of her?!”

“Dude, let’s just go. And get a fucking girlfriend!”

He didn’t want one. They always required time and effort and attention. He’d tried the whole dating thing. But each time he went out with somebody, the girls always blabbered on about shit he didn’t care about. Rumors, gossip. Hairstyles. He’d yet to find one who knew even the most basic facts about rock music. One he’d gone out with had been a _Beatles_ fan and he’d been excited, had looked forward to exchanging favorite songs and random bits of knowledge. Then she’d told him she was a proud _McLennon_. He’d asked what that meant. Maybe it was short for songwriting-fan or something.

It wasn’t that.

He’d bolted right after. He’d gone to Miles’. They’d laughed about it. Then they’d flipped through his collection of _Beatles_ interviews and, oddly enough, they’d briefly entertained the startling notion that there might have actually been some type of a _McLennon_ -thing happening back then. A minute later, their eyes had met, they’d held gazes, and they’d burst into cackles. “Never,” Alex had stated.

“No way,” Miles had agreed.

“Wait up!” Miles’ voice boomed through the corridor, and fast-flying footsteps echoed, announcing he was sprinting up to him. “What’cha got planned for today?” An arm wrapped around his shoulders; pulled him in.

Alex smiled, turned, then rolled his eyes once again. Miles was next to him, but next to Miles was she of the seductive vowels and she of the talented tongue. Alex’s endless knowledge of music trivia stood no chance against an artfully applied _accent circonflexe_. “Band rehearsal,” clipped Alex.

“Cool,” said the French tutor, who also had a name. Anne. “Can I come and watch? Saw your gig some weeks back. You rocked!”

“That’s kind of the point of a rock band, wouldn’t you say? To _rock_?”

“Alex,” hissed Miles.

He shrugged innocently.

Matt, from Alex’s left, leaned forward to catch her snide look. “Forget him. You’re more than welcome. And if it’s not too much to ask, do you think you could bring your friend Rachel?”

She giggled, hands entwining with Miles’. “Will do. A little tip, she’s totally into _O-Town_ , in case you want to do, like, a cover or something!”

Alex spread his shoulders far. His eyes, simmering, zeroed in on Matt, and he raised a single index finger. “I dare you, Helders.”

“We’re always looking for covers!”

“Fucking _O-Town_? I’d rather do _Atomic Kitten_!”

“Love them,” blurted Miles’ girl.

Miles quickly stepped between her and Alex when the latter swiveled her way. “We should go, Anne. He didn’t get his sugar yet. Makes him testy.” The quip that it was, it didn’t hide the fact that Miles was far from happy about Alex’s outburst of whatever. He could tell by the way his eyes, usually warm and sunny, were cold and dark.

_Damnit!_

He dropped his head, full of remorse. “Sorry.”

“Tell _her_!”

Alex swallowed his pride. “Sorry, Anne.”

“’s fine.”

“Alright,” said Miles, eyes still on Alex. “We’ll catch you later.”

Matt nodded. Alex remained silent.

Miles and Anne left.

“The hell was that?” asked his drummer the moment they were gone.

“How can he like her?” Alex asked in all honesty. “She’s a fan of pop music.”

“Have you seen her legs? And,” grinned the drummer, “her chest?”

Shoulders fell. “I’m late for English. See you after.”

**#Miles**

“What’s he doin’?” Anne’s hand was crawling along his back, doing that tickling/teasing thing he was kinda into, even though he preferred it when it happened on a bed, away from people, without clothes. This time, though, he couldn’t find any fun in it. Sitting on the couch in the corner of the garage, distantly hearing Jamie and Matt spitball with a new bridge, his entire focus, however, was aimed at the couple by the mic stand. Alex and Rachel.

They’d arrived together after Rachel had been told by Anne that Matt had the hots for her, but the fire had quickly gone out when Matt had told her he loved _The Sex Pistols_ and she’d said they lacked talent.

Miles had half-expected Alex to step in, literally toss her out on her butt, and lock the door from the inside. Instead, to everyone’s puzzlement, he’d laughed, and told her she might be on to something.

A deafening silence had fallen over everyone but Anne, who’d quietly wondered what all that tenseness was about. He’d waved her off. Explaining it would have taken too long. Instead, Alex had ignored everyone’s reaction and proceeded to show Rachel the rehearsal space. Now, fifteen minutes and much boredom later, they stood at the mic.

“You always sing?” asked the slender brunette.

“Well, I’m the lead singer,” said Alex, damned flirt that he was. “It’s my job.”

“You’re the boss of the band, then?”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

Nearby, Nick and Andy snickered loudly.

“Wanna go see a movie later?” he continued.

“On a school night?”

“Yeah?”

She smiled, all female guile and batting lashes.

Miles scoffed on the inside. “Your mom won’t like that!”

Alex tilted to the side, to look past the girl in front of him, meeting Miles’ guiltless stare with one of confusion. “What do you care?”

“Just sayin’.”

“Don’t,” advised Alex.

Nick cleared his throat. “Can we start, guys? Some of us got homework to do.”

“All of us, actually.” Miles got up. “I’m headed home. Wanna come,” he asked Anne.

“I’ll stay with Rachel.”

He nodded. And truthfully, he preferred it like that.

**#December 2002**

“You didn’t have to break up with Rachel.” Miles sat on the floor of his room, back against his bed, the acoustic in his lap. “Just ‘cause me and Anne didn’t work out.” She’d told him that she wanted to try out for a singing competition which would take place in London during Christmas break. And because he was good on the guitar, Anne reasoned, he ought to do it with her. She’d wanted to perform an acoustic version of a Christina Aguilera song. He’d politely declined. After a week of back and forth, she’d broken it off. Last night, while out with Alex and the band, he’d seen her make out with some guy who played the piano.

“Rachel told me to pick a side and I did. You’re my friend.” Alex sat down next to him. “Are you sad that it’s over? Like, did you love her or…”

“Nah. She was fun, though.”

“Looked good, too.”

“And my French actually improved.”

“French kissing, maybe,” ribbed Alex, giving his arm a cheerful slap. “I have French with you. You still sound awful.”

“Least I’m no longer failing class.” Lips pulled up. “Guess I’ll need a new tutor.”

“Shall I offer myself?”

Miles snorted loudly, then cackled. “Wanna get better, not worse!”

“Glad you’re still laughing.”

“So are you. Did you like her?” He’d always wondered that. Alex had begun dating her so fast that everyone had been surprised.

“A little,” Alex allowed. “She was funny, too. Knew some about music.” He settled in, shimmied further against the mattress, then let his head fall back. “We didn’t do much together in the last weeks, you and I, I mean.”

“No.” Miles turned to look at him, transfixed by the sight his friend made. Alex looked peaceful and content, as though he was exactly where he wanted to be. That this place happened to be the spot next to him amazed him each time he witnessed it. Then again, it had been a while. “We didn’t see much of each other.”

“We should change that. What you got planned for the break?”

“Trip to Liverpool,” he was forced to admit, his gaze falling back to the floor. “Mom and Dad want us to stay with my grandma ‘til after New Year. Catch up with my other relatives, all that. I suppose they miss ‘em. Miss our old life.”

Shadows of exhaustion on Alex’s face parted for ones of sadness. “You’ll be gone the entire time, then? That sucks bunches. I mean, guess I’m happy that you get to meet your old friends again. Blows, though, that we won’t be able to hang out.”

“Gonna miss you a lot.”

_Oh no._ Miles cringed inwardly. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. God! How embarrassing! What would Alex think of him, now? He’d already set himself up for laughter a while back when he’d let it slip that he liked him. And now he went and told him that he’d miss him, too? How fucking stupid was that?! How—

“Gonna miss you, too,” murmured Alex while stifling a yawn, not laughing now just as he hadn’t laughed then. His head rolled to the side, came to lean against Miles’ shoulder. Remained there.

Miles stiffened. His breath caught. Fingers froze. Alex was slowly falling asleep against his side. That warm body pressed against his arm. His head, heavy and yet not, came in at the perfect height to rest against him. Strands of his shaggy hair tickled the skin of his neck, making it curious in ways it absolutely should not be.

It was strange, all of it. They’d slept together in the same bed, countless times. At first, he’d been hesitant. He’d never shared the bed with a guy before. But they wore sweats. It wasn’t like they were naked. Or even touching. They stayed apart from one another. One sometimes slept upside down. When they fell into bed drunk, before waking to the ire of one of their mothers, they usually did it wearing an entire set of clothes. Never once had there been an instance when they’d woken up tangled and twisted. Or, worse, snuggling. He’d never wanted to snuggle with Alex. He was his mate. His best friend. His partner in crime.

Why did it feel nice, then? To have Alex this close? Why did his heart beat faster, all of sudden? Why did he breathe in deeper to catch a little more of his scent? And what was it about deodorant, soap, and a day’s worth of food and cigarettes that made it such an intoxicating combination? He inhaled again, quietly, terrified to wake him, to get himself caught. Alex was a guy. He wasn’t supposed to have this reaction to a guy! What reaction was he even having? What was this?

Was this attraction? Interest? Again, Alex was a guy. A bloke. A man with a dick. There was nothing sexy or beautiful about him. No smooth legs, no soft curves, no full breasts, no sweet lips, no long hair – okay, an argument could be made about the hair. But still! Alex was _not_ a girl. He was a fucking guy! His face, it wasn’t delicate or fine, it had angles and defined lines. There was a hint of stubble. His brows were bushy and somewhat wild, unlike the flawless arches that Anne had and which sat like faultless strokes of an artist’s brush on a face lacking even a single blemish. Alex had little spots below his lip. Sometimes, he was self-conscious about it. A few weeks back, they had Miles take a group shot of the band to serve as a new cover for their album. Alex had tried to hide that side of his face in the shadow of a tree behind ‘em. Miles had found it insanely cute.

_Cute_.

No, he’d found it funny. He’d laughed, had he not? Snickered? Made fun? Thinking back, trying to recall, desperate for the exact recollection, he had to concede that he hadn’t done that. He’d smiled. To himself. He swallowed, now. Gulped. Was ‘cute’ the appropriate term after all?

Alex stirred, startling Miles out of his contemplations, troubling as they were. He stretched. Leaned back. Squinted. “Sorry. Must ‘ve fallen ‘sleep.” Reaching up, he scratched his head. Blink by blink, he awakened. “How long was I gone?”

“Minute or so?”

“Ah.” He arched once more, straightened his back, then cursed. Eyes caught something. Sharpened. “Fucking hell! A minute? It’s past nine. Mom’s gonna rip my head off!”

_Nine?_

Miles couldn’t believe it. He’d just dozed off. Like, half a thought ago.

“Could have woken me!”

“Sorry! Eh…was distracted.”

“Yeah,” scoffed Alex, then laughed. “You and your guitar. Dangerous blend. See ya tomorrow. Night, Mi!”

“Night,” he blurted, thoughts still scrambled. How’d he not noticed that an hour and a half had passed?

**#2018**

“It’s gotten late.”

Alex looked up from his plate which was decorated with intricate details. Herbs and even a small flower. In the midst, as it did on Miles’ plate, sat a potato, impeccable in shape and scope. Two basil leaves topped off some sort of exotic vegetable that Alex graciously ate around and which Miles had gone for first. A piece of beef the size of two golf balls was coated with a spoonful of sauce. Sight returning to it, he stuck his fork in. “Somebody waiting for you at home?” With mighty cuts, the knife went through it. “Daniel, maybe? The guy giving you so much space? Are you tellin’ me he’s waiting for you at home, wondering where the love of his life is, grudgingly coming to terms with the sad idea of having to spend another hour or two without you?”

Miles blew out a heavy breath, which might as well have been a cloud of toxic fumes going by the exasperation he experienced. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Dinner? Yes. Company? That’s a hard _maybe_.”

“Daniel is working,” mentioned Miles then, eating on. “Works at the _Royal London Hospital_.”

Alex kept carving. The knife scraped against the porcelain. “I _really_ don’t care.”

“I think you do. He’s a surgeon. Funny thing, he’s working with his ex. And they get along just fine. They moved on.”

“I would think, what with them working together. They had every opportunity to hash out the remaining differences, clear up lingering confusions, and come to terms with the ending once no question was left unanswered.” Alex raised his head. Smiled sweetly. “Imagine where you and I could be if you’d stayed with the band.”

Miles took a moment, set his jaw, and rammed his fork into the beef. “Touché.”

He’d casually scored a nice verbal victory and yet, Alex moved right past it. “Ran into Paul McCartney last year. This cabernet is really good, by the way.” He drank some. “Talked for like a minute. Superficial stuff. Told him I was a fan.”

It always was this way with them. Jumping from one topic to another, from one sentiment to another. “What did he say?”

“Goodie, one more.”

Miles grinned. “He’s got a great sense of humor.”

“He does. For half a second I debated with myself whether or not I should ask.”

Taken aback, Miles paused mid-bite. “’bout the old interview? Seriously?”

“It was burning in the back of my throat. Like, fingers itching, all that shit. Remember that one time we met Keith Richards in London while shopping for Christmas gifts and you practically shoved me into his arms ‘cause I was too starstruck to ask for his signature?”

He remembered it vividly. In glorious detail. Living color. HD. 4K. Ultra. All of it. One of the best days of his life. “Vaguely.”

Something crossed Alex’s eyes. Was it a memory? Sadness? How badly Miles wanted to know. “Wished you were there in that moment. One of the far less than a handful of times I wished for you after you left. But I did at that moment. You’d have given me a nudge, a bit of a push, and I’d have asked if he really wanted to spend the day in bed with John Lennon if he had one more day with him.”

“Wishful thinking,” spoke Miles.

Alex raised a brow, amused. “That _McLennon_ was real?”

“That I’d have given you a nudge,” Miles confessed with a chortle. “I’d have cowered in a corner, giggling like a toddler at the sight of him!”

“What’s it about ‘em?” quizzed Alex, the corners of his lips drawn up. “You’ve met almost everyone. From Britney to Taylor to Keith – a few times! – to Pete and Carl and a million more. There are pictures of you chatting up a storm with the entire who is who of music. Except the remaining three.”

“Awe,” supposed Miles, giving it a thought. “Or fear.” He’d seen a few shows, had seen ‘em play. Had been at parties where one _Beatle_ or more were present. “They are on the highest pedestal in my imagination. Talking with one might take away from that. I think everybody needs this one person or group or whatever that’s bigger than life. And they only remain that if you keep your distance. If you look too closely, you’ll see cracks in the paint, dents in the hood…”

“Shadows in the crowd,” Alex supplied.

Miles stopped eating.

Alex pulled his eyes away. “I heard it, that day. The one before we went to London.”

**#December 2002**

“Two more days and you’re off to Liverpool.” Alex packed his gym pack, stuffed the wet towel back in. “We gotta do something fun first. Let’s go to London for a day, take the early train, do some Christmas shopping.” His voice dropped some shades, became one filled with panic. “Got nothin’ for my parents. Not even an idea. Last year I got my mom a rare recording of _The Clash_. She used it to keep the TV from wobbling.”

“Ooh,” winced Miles. “That’s bad!”

“Yeah! Had to sneak into the living room in the middle of the night and save it. Exchanged it with some folk tunes record I found in her closet. I think she looked for it, once. Got anything for your parents?” Jacket in hand, he exited the locker room. Miles followed after.

“Book for my dad. Oldtimers, all that. He loves that stuff. Nothin’ for mom. It’s hard with mothers. You want to make it perfect but it’s tough!”

“Right?”

PE was the last class that day. From the gym, they made their way to the parking lot, past clusters of students.

“How ‘bout some movie? Like a VHS or something. Something old,” pondered Alex. “ _Titanic_ is old!”

“I don’t think it’s old enough to be old. If that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t,” laughed Alex.

“What’s the name of the old guy who made the creepy films? The one with the moody scores? The on—”

“Alex and his lapdog about to take a ride. Miles on a leash.”

Miles paused, looked. There she was. A few rows away. Anne. With the piano player. Holding hands. She hadn’t said it. He had. He, a guy Miles had never met in person. He hadn’t spoken a single word to Anne since the breakup. What was it to him who he was hanging out with? And who the fuck did he think he was, calling him a fucking lapdog? Fists balled as anger began to stir inside of him. He and Alex were friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Certainly nothing more! There was nothing more to be! It was fucking nobody’s business what—

“Hitchcock,” said Alex and shoved the helmet into his unprepared hands. It dropped to the ground, caught his attention, distracted him. “Hitchcock,” said Alex again, leaned down, and picked the helmet up. He pushed it into his hands once again, and this time, Miles took it. Alex’s fingers went to his shoulder and he turned him, made him face the bike. “His scores are awesome. But I’m into western these days. As is my dad. Maybe your parents are, too,” he proposed. “Didn’t you tell me ‘bout this one film you saw? The long one with the harmonica?”

“Morricone,” muttered Miles, still sidetracked. Eyes lurking on Anne and her guy. “Ennio Morricone. He’s the one who did the score. Film’s _Once Upon A Time In The West_. Got it on VHS at home. Want to see it?”

“Yeah, let’s go. Wait, it’s long. Like, hours long? Let’s find the others, rehearse first. Don’t want to quit mid-movie. And you’re out of popcorn so we got to stock up on that.”

That made Miles snap out of his preoccupation with his ex. “How do you know I’m out of popcorn?”

“We watched _Big Brother_ two days ago and ate the last. Yesterday, we were out all day, doing no shopping whatsoever, and the other day, your mom said she had some carrots for us in case we’d like snacks. I doubt she got popcorn.”

“Jesus, you’re freaky at times.”

“I just catch a lot of stuff. Like, not even consciously.”

“Like a sponge or something. You do the rehearsal, I’ll go shopping. Drop me off at home?”

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Alex got on first, Miles after. Hands went to his waist.

“Tighter,” admonished Alex. “We went over this!”

Miles kept his hands where they were, suddenly conscious of the fact that Anne and her boyfriend might read the wrong things into it. It irritated him. Not their scrutiny or the fact that they cared about him. It was his own reaction he didn’t like; the unsettling unease which had him swiftly alter his behavior to hide and cover something that didn’t exist. “We’re not even out of the parking lot yet.”

With a groan of protest, Alex drove off.

By the time they hit the street, though, Miles’ arms were securely locked around him, his chest pressed against Alex’s back, his chin tucked neatly into the curve of Alex’s shoulder. Out of sight, he felt safe. “Better?”

“Perfect!”

**#2018**

Such an innocuous little comment and yet, here he was, almost fifteen years later, recalling the precise words and the exact intonation like he’d heard it none less than a second ago.

It’s never the ending of a book, somebody once told him, that people keep in mind. Always the beginning. That’s when the course is set. The ending simply serves to underscore how massive that outwardly insignificant moment on page one truly was. And Alex, the sponge that he was, conscious of everything and anything, had heard it. Maybe it had been naïve to think he hadn’t. It was only natural, then, that it had stayed with him. “You never said anything,” Miles pointed out.

Alex gave up on the steak, little he’d eaten of it. “Would you have wanted me to? You never said anything, either. I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you’d have come to me.”

“And say what?”

A shrug.

From Miles’ lips, a shallow smile slipped. “Isn’t it weird? We talked so much, you and I. About the craziest, strangest, wildest things. But we never discussed the things that we should have discussed. Think about it. Sometimes, we tried. Sometimes, we managed for a bit. But did we ever truly, openly admit to stuff?” His finger ran along the edge of his plate, idly tracing the shape as his mind wandered back to the past. “I hoped you hadn’t heard. Back then, I mean. Part of me was embarrassed. I knew it wasn’t true what he said. That he’d done it to piss me off. _Now_ , I know.”

“Did you honestly believe, for so much as a second, that you were my lapdog?” Incredulity spoke from Alex, whose eyes widened with disbelief and even traces of anger. “Miles, come on! You never were!”

“It’s not about what I was or not. If it had been just this one thing, I’d have easily forgotten about it. But it wasn’t. It was only the beginning, Alex. It was one of many other things.”

.

.

** Spoiler Chapter 7: **

#

“Let’s be fucking honest, Miles. We’re not here ‘cause you reached out to me after your heavy conscience finally wore you to the ground. We ran into each other by accident. And if Matt hadn’t gone and interfered with shit that is none of his fucking business, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

He knew that, of course. And it stung uncomfortably, being called out for it. At the same time, though, Alex’s words made it sound as if he hadn’t cared for closure and that wasn’t true. “I wrote you letters and I never sent them. I typed your number and I never pressed dial. I stood in front of your door and never knocked. When we play the same festival, I hide in the shadows, afraid to run into you. It’s not that I never _wanted_ to reach out, or speak up, or take a fucking step, no matter what. But—”

“Then why the fuck did I never hear a bloody word from you?!”

“’cause I was scared to death of how you’d react!”

#

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about him. It was going so well between us.”

Alex scoffed. “You kidding? A friend struggles and you don’t care? Not only that, you—”

“He’s not _my_ friend,” bit Miles, making it obvious he was done discussing it.

#


	7. Cracks

**#2018**

**#Miles**

Before long, they’d finished with the main course. Two more scotches arrived. Then the option for dessert. “He’ll have the salted caramel parfait, I’ll have the chocolate tart,” ordered Alex as the server removed the empty plates, his tone distant as though he hardly paid attention. He held up his drink. “And have two more of these ready at the end.”

The server nodded and went away.

“I don’t think I had salted caramel parfait _once_ back in school.” Fingers circled around the damp glass, taking their time adjusting to the wetness, waiting for the grip to establish itself. Then, with pace, Miles lifted it to his lips and took a sip. The rich taste spread with ease. A bit of burn went down his throat. The coldness of it quickly countered the sensation, making for a fascinating play of opposites. Much like Alex. “How’d you know I’d choose that?”

Lasting only the shortest of a minute, Alex’s cheeks flamed up. As if caught performing a criminal act, he immediately averted his eyes and tried covering the evidence of his deeds. “Guessed. Caramel.” The tip of his thumb skimmed over the impeccable tablecloth for invisible lint. You always liked that. “Even asked for extra caramel cookies whenever mom had baked ‘em. She loved that about you. Told me you were adorably polite.” A smile crept up his lips and as soon as Alex became conscious of it, he wiped out like an enemy’s front line. “Always told me to be more like you.”

Sometimes, trying to mask a small mistake revealed a greater truth. Miles put his glass away. “You remember much more than you want.”

Alex reached for his, drank more.

“I talked about salted caramel parfait in an interview last year. The one I did with my friend Tom. I remember ‘cause he made the dessert specifically for me that day the reporter was around. You know Tom. He’s got a restaurant. Matt took you there. He told me. You read the interview?”

“Must have. By accident, probably. In a waiting room somewhere. Or at the airport.”

“What airport.”

“Heathrow? Don’t fucking remember!”

“It appeared in a very small publication. Local paper. Not online.”

Eyes rolled. Alex finished his drink.

“Barely anyone read it. Shame, though. Tom’s a funny guy. Deserves some attention.”

Lips became thin and firm. Knuckles turned white as they clung to an empty glass, one perfectly able to stand on the table by itself.

“Maybe a thousand copies were sold. Locally—”

Alex bristled; his tolerance snapped. “The fuck do you want me to say, huh? Yes, I read the bloody interview. I fucking bought the paper ‘cause Matt mentioned it and I went out and I fucking got it. So fucking what, Miles? Sue me, I was interested! I read your interviews. Probably most of ‘em. And now go and tell me you’ve never read one of mine!” 

“I read ‘em all.”

A fully bloated balloon pricked by a needle. Alex deflated and slouched into his chair. “And because you keep track of my life and I keep track of your life, you’re closer to your endgame which is what? Forgiveness? Absolution? Let’s be fucking honest, Miles. We’re not here ‘cause you reached out to me after your heavy conscience finally wore you to the ground. We ran into each other by accident. And if Matt hadn’t gone and interfered with shit that is none of his fucking business, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

He knew that, of course. And it stung uncomfortably, being called out for it. At the same time, though, Alex’s words made it sound as if he hadn’t cared for closure and that wasn’t true. “I wrote you letters and I never sent them. I typed your number and I never pressed dial. I stood in front of your door and never knocked. When we play the same festival, I hide in the shadows, afraid to run into you. It’s not that I never _wanted_ to reach out, or speak up, or take a step, no matter what. But—”

“Then why the fuck did I never hear a bloody word from you?”

“’cause I was scared to death that you…” It was his turn to finish the scotch. He wiped his face, his eyes. Tried wiping the emotions off. Steadied his voice to hide his anxiety. “Dylan’s _Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright_ lasts roughly four minutes when performed live. When you sang it, it lasted years. A lifetime. A fucking eternity. I know I broke your heart, Alex. I hadn’t known that I broke it good. It never crossed my mind that I did permanent damage. I didn’t think it possible that I could do that. That you loved me enough to give me that much power. Maybe I feared that. Maybe I never reached out because I was scared of what I’d find if I did. Maybe,” whispered Miles, voice small, almost broken, “I was scared that you’d be none of that. That you’d be over me. That you’d look at me and don’t care at all.”

“I _wish_ I wouldn’t care. I wish it so badly.”

**#December 2002**

**#Alex**

“A thrift store?” Miles' forehead laid in wrinkles as he popped his collar against the biting winds of a wintery December day. “You think we’ll find something here?”

“If no proper present, maybe we’ll find an old record that’s worth something.” Alex grabbed his arm and let his optimism lead the way. “Come on. Never know unless we look!” From his arm, the hand wandered up, to the shoulder, where it came to rest. “It’s big, this one. And neither of us has the money for one of the fancy shops. Although, we do have to make a quick trip to Mayfair!”

“Wanna buy a _Rolex_ ,” joked Miles.

“Not buy. And no _Rolex_.” He had his eyes set on something bigger. “Wait and see. It’s a surprise! But shopping first.” He was giddy and excited, more than he’d been in a long time. Was that to counter the dread and sadness that gathered in the pit of his stomach at the idea of not seeing Miles again for two whole weeks? Half a month! What would he do without him? They saw each other every day in school, always hung out, were always in each other’s presence. But Liverpool? That was _hours_ away. And then there was Christmas. Family time. They’d be busy making nice with the relatives.

It sucked. Big time. He’d imagined they’d hang out, eat cookies and chocolate, play with the band, go out at night, and just have fun nonstop. Matt was headed for Scotland for family vacation, Jamie and Andy were visiting relatives in other cities, Nick would have to help out at home since they’d be having a lot of guests over and so would he, because his parents were just as eager for company.

No friends at all.

He couldn’t wait for school to start again and that was a thought he’d never considered possible! Scary things were happening!

“Found anything yet?”

Alex turned away from the row of old, vintage leather jackets he was flipping through and raised a shoulder sheepishly. “Stuff for me. You?”

“Old car magazines!” He seemed happy about that. “Dad will love ‘em!”

“More for your dad, then. Anything for your mom?”

“Pair of earrings, I think? But I’m not sure. You?”

“There’s a book about knitting techniques.”

Miles grimaced.

Alex’s spirits plummeted. “Not good, eh?”

“Try less…practical. More…leisure.”

“Sweatpants?”

Miles laughed. “She’d definitely prefer that over the knitting instructions.” When he lifted his arm to curl it around Alex’s shoulders, Alex was stunned to find how quickly he adjusted, angled into it, to meet the loose embrace. “Come on, let’s look for pink trackies and pearl necklaces!”

He cackled. “You get her to wear that, _I_ will pay for that _Gibson_ of yours!”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep! I’m very persuasive.”

“Oh, I noticed!” Eyes caught something sparkly. “Oh, look!”

Miles already saw it and headed its way. “I’ll take that!”

“I saw it first!” It was a silver bracelet. “It’s perfect!”

“It is! And check out the price. It’s the one!”

“Well,” posed Alex, eyebrows arched as a dilemma arose, “who's gonna get it?”

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Alright!”

Alex crossed his arms and glowered, petulant and with a pout. “Bruce Willis is no joker in Rock, Paper, Scissors!”

Miles held the bag with the bracelet and the magazines proudly. To make it worse, the smirk lighting up his face might as well have been a fucking cosmic event. It was that big! “ _Armageddon_ was on tv the other day. He beat the asteroid just fine.”

“I know the damn film. Technically, the asteroid killed him! The bomb destroyed the asteroid.”

“Bruce didn’t die because of the asteroid, he died because of Ben Affleck! Tellin’ ya, one day, Ben Affleck will kill us all.” He moved on. “I got my gifts. Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere with food. I need a bite. The asteroid killed me.”

“Off we go, then.” He linked his arm with his. “It’s on me. To make up for the bracelet.”

“Oh, do I get to splurge big? Let’s see…” His mood brightened quickly. In Miles’ company, he’d come to find, it never stayed dull for long. He dabbed his chin. “I want…" What did he want? "A burger.”

“I expected caviar.”

“Blech.”

“Champagne?”

“Double blech.”

“Coke and Burger King?”

“Peeeeer-feeect. Even better, there’s one in Mayfair near the surprise.”

“What _is_ the surprise?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Miles.” He played along, dabbed his chin. “What’s the definition of a surprise?”

Slapping his arm, Miles snorted. “Fine. Keep your spoilers.”

He did.

Miles side-eyed him. “Big or small?”

“Round or square?”

“Huh?”

“Not gonna tell!”

A huff.

They made it down to the tube. “Hear that, it’s coming in. Hurry!”

“Why are we here?” Unlike the thrift store, this time, Miles lowered his voice to award the upscale shop its due respect. These were hallowed halls. A well-regarded guitar shop. Full of _Gibsons_ , _Fenders_ , _Yamahas_ , and all the other big ones. So much craft hung on the walls and lined up in stands. “Look at this,” he hushed, gripping Alex’s hand in awe. “It’s a vintage _Les Paul_!”

“Get’s better,” swore Alex, the promise full of enthusiasm. He pulled Miles towards the back, away from the guitars on display. “Move! You can drool over the pretty ones later. First, you have to see the special one!”

“The special what? A guitar?”

Alex nodded fervently. And tugged hard on the hand, his own impatience running high. “Come!” Near the back, an elderly man waited for their arrival.

“Alex, kiddo. How’s it going?”

“Awesome, Ron. Is it here? Oh, Miles, this is Ron, a friend of my parents. They got my _Fender_ from him. He helped my parents find one that was a good deal. He owns this place!” And just last week, Ron had called him to let him know that a rare piece of wood was coming in for an inspection. He faced Miles, grabbed his shoulders, and beamed into his confused face. “Wanna see George Harrison’s guitar?” As thrilled as Alex was himself, seeing Miles’ eyes bulge in wide wonder made this moment even better. Miles was as crazy about guitars as he was. Knew as much as he did. Sure, Jamie and the others were keen on that, too. But he and Miles shared a singular sort of interest. A wild fascination. And to be able to experience this moment with him made it even better.

Ron chuckled as he pulled the door open to let them in. “No word to anyone, understood? It’s soon going to auction and the auction house wants a detailed report on it and a bit of a clean-up, all that. No touching, are we clear? Hands into your pockets. They stay there!”

Letting go of Miles, Alex swiftly shoved them into his jeans. As did Miles. Then they stepped in.

“Is that it?” Alex spotted the piece of history in front of him and took in a sharp breath as though it was the holy grail of instruments.

Ron nodded. “Amazing, right? A real _Beatle_ played it.”

“It’s like seeing a miracle,” gushed Miles.

“Like finding a treasure,” whispered Alex, practically holding his breath.

“I think it’s levitating off the table.”

“And glowing!”

“You two are nuts,” said Ron.

By the time they emerged from the store, Miles was still smiling. It was a sight almost as wonderous as the guitar had been and Alex couldn’t stop staring at his friend who wore his happiness like a badge of honor. “Told you, Mi! Wasn’t it worth it, coming here?”

“Worth it?” His eyes turned wider if that was even possible. “This is the best day of my life, Alex!” Both of them were hit by icy winds. The coldness made Alex immediately zip up his jacket, a coldness which Miles hardly seemed to notice. “I don’t know what to say! Thank you for taking me with you.”

“Thank me?” It made him laugh. Then he tugged on Miles’ anorak. “Close it. ‘tis fucking cold! Thank you for coming with me! None of the others would have understood. Like, they’d have found it cool. But you’re the only one who’s as crazy about this as I am.” As he told him, Miles struggled with the zipper, unable to get it to align properly. Alex chuckled. “Want me to—”

Miles looked up. “Do what?”

Alex’s jaw had dropped at the nearby sight. “Is that…is it…oh my God!”

“What, where?” Scanning their surroundings, not finding the cause for Alex’s excitement, Miles faced him again. “What is it?”

Alex rolled his eyes. How could he not see?! He clutched Miles’ shoulder and rotated him around. “ There! Look! Tall guy, middle age, black beanie.” He leaned in, lowered his voice. “That’s—”

“Keith Richards!” blurted Miles.

“SHHHHHH! Be quiet, what if he hears?”

“His name?” Miles was giddy; grabbed Alex’s hand. “Come on! Let’s go over and—”

“Are you fucking insane?” Alex wrenched his arm free, only to grab Miles’ to hold him back. And he had to put some weight into it ‘cause Miles was keen. “Not gonna!”

“Why not? What are the odds we’ll ever see him again, huh? Al, let’s go!”

“No!” Once more, he stopped Miles. Both hands gripped his arm. What if Keith Richards didn’t like to meet fans? What if Keith Richards found fans annoying? He didn’t want to offend Keith Richards! It was Keith Richards! “We can’t do that, Mi!”

“Oh, come on!” Miles wrestled free.

“No, you don’t understand. He’s gonna hate it!” Alex cowered in front of Miles, trying to go overlooked by Keith Richards. “He’s gonna hate it and he’s gonna tell everyone he knows that he met two idiots who didn’t know how to keep their distance and then he’s gonna curse us, and we’ll never play another show again ‘cause Keith Richards hates us!”

A sniff of mocking laughter from Miles, which Alex found most uncalled for. Didn’t Miles understand the gravity of this situation? And also, didn’t Miles know how to be quiet in order for Keith Richards not to notice them? “Lower your voice! What if he sees us?”

“You’re insane! You think too much. Switch your bloody head off and get your feet moving!” This time around, Miles’ fingers wrapped around Alex’s hand, giving him no chance to wrench it away. He hauled him along. Right over to the other side of the street where Keith Richards stood.

“Hi,” giggled Miles, waving his hand once. “You’re Keith Richards!”

Behind him, Alex wanted to hide and die and disappear all at once. “He knows that he’s Keith Richards,” he hissed at Miles, ‘duh’ written all over his face. “He _is_ Keith Richards!”

Miles shut him up with a single, pointed glare. Then returned his attention to the rock legend in front of him. “I’m Miles, this is Alex. We’re huge fans. We’re from Sheffield,” he babbled. “We’re here to buy Christmas gifts for our parents. You’re incredible, like, a music God! We got all your records and—”

“He knows he’s a music God,” snarled Alex. Only to shrug most apologetically at Keith Richards. “Sorry. Of course, you know.” Unlike Miles, who bloody feasted on the sight of this rock star a mere two feet away from them, Alex kept his head down and his eyes averted. They were in the presence of a real _Rolling Stone_. One didn’t just look at one. One waited to be offered to look at one!

Miles swatted his shoulder. “Will you stop? Alex,” he told Keith, whom he immediately returned his attention to. “Not you. You don’t ever have to stop. You’re Keith Richards! You can do anything you want!” More giggling.

“Boys,” spoke Keith Richards. “Nice meetin’ you. Want me to sign anything for you?”

“Yes!” Miles scrambled to find something. He fished through the bag with the stuff he’d bought. Withdrew a receipt. “Uh…this? Can you sign it for Miles? Thank you so much!”

“No problem.” He signed it. Then looked at Alex. Dead-on met his eyes.

Alex froze completely.

Miles pulled another receipt from the bag. “Can you sign this for him? For Alex. He’s too blown away to speak.”

“Happy to do it.” He signed that one as well. “Have a nice day, guys.” Then he walked away.

Once he was out of view, Miles spun around and gaped at Alex, lips stretched into a giant grin as he squealed, “We just met Keith Richards! On the same day we saw George Harrison’s guitar! Like, how perfect is this day?!”

“Perfect,” agreed Alex, still stunned. Slowly, he began to snap out of his daze. His eyes landed on the slip of paper that carried his name, scribbled down by Keith Richards himself, along with the man’s signature. “You got this for me! If you hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have this.”

“You’d have gone for it, yourself,” Miles assured him, clutching his own signature as tightly as possible.

“No,” disagreed Alex. “Never. I’m not like you. I don’t just walk up to people, least of all rock stars! My head’s a mess in those moments. I always think about what might happen. Like, how they might react and stuff. You just do it!”

“It’s not always good to just do stuff,” countered Miles, his grin cheeky. “Lots of times I’ve gotten into trouble for it. Most times ‘cause I just do stuff with you!”

Alex laughed. “Wish I’d be more like you. Know? Like, more forward.”

“Wish I had your head,” Miles admitted. “Not just ‘cause your hair looks pretty good,” he joked. Then ruffled the hair. “Almost long enough. Can’t wait to start braiding it.” Alex slapped his hand away and chuckled. “You’re very smart. Like that about you. You make wise decisions. I make rash ones.”

“You talked to Keith Richards. I just stood there, gawking. Not sure I’m the wise one.”

“Good thing we’re a team, then. Right?” Miles stuffed the signed receipt into his jacket pocket and zipped it tightly shut and once he was done with that, he finally managed to zip the rest of his jacket up as well. “Now that we’ve established that we’re best when working together, where shall we go to find a gift for your mom?”

“Oh, shit!” Alex crammed his signature into his jeans pocket. “Almost forgot.” He cast a look around. “What looks like a place that sells gifts for mothers?”

“Tiffany’s?”

“Not a rock star yet!”

Miles, too, looked around. Then pointed somewhere. “See! Antique store. Maybe they got some trinket she likes.”

Alex flung his arm around Miles’ shoulders. “Let’s hope! Hey, with any luck we’ll meet another famous person!”

Returning the side-hug, Miles’ arm wrapped around Alex’s back. “Or music royalty. How ‘bout someone from _O-Town_?”

They were laughing all the way to the store.

**#2018**

“When you left, you didn’t just leave me. You took all of my favorite memories and made them hurt.” Alex took the fork, lowered it into the chocolate tart, only to halt when he was sideswiped off his road by an abrupt need to find out, “Does he like rock music?”

As staggered as Alex was about needing to hear the answer, Miles was about the question. His look was blank. “Uh…no. Likes _Bon Jovi_ and _Bruce Springsteen_. The songs that everybody knows. Thinks it’s real rock but…you know.”

_Springsteen_ was good. But real rock, that was something else. The best songs were the ones that never made the charts. The ones that hid on b-sides and on dulled records. Early recordings that never got the polish required for a night out at the opera. _Bowie_ before he became _Bowie._ _The Beatles_ before they became fabulous. Bands whose names were long forgotten. That intense desire to learn more, to understand what made Miles be with a doctor of all people pulsated like a bleeding wound inside of him. “What do you talk about with him? When you and I were—” He grappled with the image of Miles and his bore. “We were talking non-stop. Jamie called us out for being annoying so bloody often! Matt locked us out of the garage once!”

“Not because we talked,” recalled Miles with a smirk, which became a blush real fast. And as it happened, as Alex watched Miles’ cheeks glow in light red, it struck him as something extraordinary. Miles Kane, confident man, accomplished man, sly man, blushed because he remembered a kiss.

Which was what they had done in that garage. For seconds, then minutes, then more.

How beautiful the sight was. How mesmerizing. To know that this man who’d seen and done so much was thrown for a loop by the memory of a single kiss, a kiss he’d shared with Alex years ago? It took him in. Made his heart beat faster. Made his pulse drum.

On Miles’ upper lip, right next to the left arch of the cupid’s bow, sat the tiniest amount of salted caramel parfait. Barely visible. Invisible, probably, to a passing stranger or even a fleeting mirror’s inspection. Alex saw, though. More, he felt it. That morsel of sugar. That dust crump of a dessert. It could feel it seer a hole into the finger’s tip. His hand, both of them resting in his lap at a secure distance, twitched and jiggled, out of sight and out of reach. But this infinitesimal cluster of atoms was calling out to it, daring it to take a leap across the table, swipe the thumbpad with its millions and billions of nerve endings over the curved lip, and possibly take a plunge into the sultry dark of his mouth right after. It was his dessert after all. He ought to eat all of it. Even the last bit.

Not unaware of Alex’s yearning – the fingers might be in hiding, his eyes were far from shielded – Miles buckled under the heated stare and quickly looked away.

“Crumb,” croaked Alex, neither ashamed nor embarrassed, but greatly affected. “Upper left lip.”

Miles wiped his mouth. “Thanks.”

“Where’s the fucking drink, huh?!”

**#2002**

It was the end of the world. There was no other way of saying it.

Alex sat by the foot of the large Christmas tree on the morning of December 26nd, checking one last time if he’d really spotted and unwrapped all of his gifts, excluding the one resting right next to his thigh, and clutched the phone with one hand. His parents were out to meet with friends. He awaited a call from Miles. The first one since the night he’d arrived in Liverpool. Both had been busy since and decided to use this moment of uninterrupted peace – Miles’ parents had planned on going out as well – and open the gifts they’d gotten each other. While talking on the phone.

He’d looked forward to it since they’d decided to get each other presents. It had started out as kind of a joked idea. Then they’d bantered back and forth over it. Until, a day later, they’d decided to do it. But they hadn’t told anyone. They didn’t want the others to join in or comment or say anything. It was a thing between Miles and Alex. Nobody else had to know. And it would have been a great way to start the day, hadn’t the damned thing gotten derailed twenty minutes ago.

The phone rang.

“My life is over,” blurted Alex.

“Is my gift _that_ bad?”

“Gift? Oh, haven’t opened it, yet. Have you? We wanted to do it together!”

“No! Jeez, joking! You alright?”

“No,” lamented Alex, bemoaning his life. “Andy called. Apparently, his grandparents signed over their house to his parents as a sort of Christmas gift, some kind of early inheritance or whatever, and now he has to move.”

“What? Where?”

“Not gonna believe it!”

“You’re fucking kidding. Liverpool?”

“Near it. Outskirts or something. He’s moving in January. Fucking sucks. He has to leave the band! We’re short a guitarist. And it’s happening at the worst possible time. The guy who owns the club that we played in offered us two slots next year! One in January, right around the time he’ll move away, and one on Valentine’s Day. That’s a big night! It could be our big break! And Andy’s fucking moving away! Oh, merry Christmas, by the way. Fucking holidays!”

All the way from an equally early morning in Liverpool came a drowsy chuckle, raspy from sleep. The sort that filled Alex with the sudden urge to crawl back into bed, slink into Miles’ arms, and return to the land of dreams. It happened alarmingly often, lately. Fantasies of blurring a line or two in his friendship with him had started to sneak up on him one creepy step at a time, starting with the urge to hug him and ending with a nightmare that had shaken an entire night’s worth of sleep right off his dog-tired shoulders. Two nights ago, he’d jolted awake after his subconscious had partaken in an altogether inappropriate and frighteningly intense kiss with Miles. And the worst part of it, dream-Alex had liked it. A truly bizarre idea which he wanted to behead before it could fester and grow into something far more dangerous. Vigorously as he tried, though, his brain was an ancient, mythical monster. Each time he sawed off one idea, two new appeared in its place.

“You’ll need a new guitarist,” concluded Miles, his sober assessment a rigid hand that pulled him out of his wandering thoughts. “Should we search for one at school once it starts back up?”

They had to. What other choice was there? But would that work? “Don’t you think it’ll be too late by then? The gig is at the end of January. Break lasts ‘til the end of the first week. Leaves only two weeks to find one and get him up to speed. There’s nobody in our school that I know of who plays an electric. We’d have to look elsewhere, we—”

Oh, how could he have been so stupid?!

The solution was right there. On the phone!

“Alex? Still there?”

“ _We_ , Miles! _You_!” God, why hadn’t he thought of it before? It was so obvious! So simple! “Of course! You already know all the songs, you play really well, you’re our friend! It’s the perfect solution!” What had been a miserable morning not even five minutes ago now was one of endless possibilities! If Miles joined the band, he could work on songs with him! They could write together! Be better than they ever were! “I’ll let the others know! They’re gonna love it. It’s gonna be so great!”

“Alex, wait!”

“Wait? Why? Oh,” he said, pausing briefly. “Right, we never told the others that you play.” Miles had never volunteered that information and even after Alex had found out about it, he’d never said a word, either. It wasn’t his talent to share. And, if he was being completely honest with himself, he hadn’t necessarily wanted to share it at any rate. This bit of information was something only he knew about. An aspect of Miles’ life that only he was trusted with, harmless though it may be. None of that mattered now, decided Alex since bigger things were at stake. “They’ll understand! They’ll freak out when they hear about it. You—”

Miles interrupted him again. “Alex, stop!”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t want what?”

“Join the band,” he stated firmly. “I don’t want that. I’ll help you find somebody else. We’ll figure it out, we—”

“Figure out a solution to a problem that already has a solution? You told me you thought about playing again. You were looking into forming a band. Well, I got a band, it’s already formed, and there’s a place for you in it! What’s the fucking issue?”

“There’s no issue,” retorted Miles, startling Alex with his testy tone. “I don’t want to. It’s that simple.”

“But _why_?”

“’cause it’s your band. I told you months ago, I don’t want to butt in. And jumping in _now_ when Andy _just_ called to tell you that he’s leaving? How do you think it’s gonna look, huh?”

_Look?_

Who the fuck cared how anything _looked_? Absentmindedly picking on the wrapping paper of Miles’ gift, Alex shook his head. “Doesn’t make any sense! You are a guitarist. And we’re short a guitarist. It’s basic math, nothing else.”

“I’ll help you find one. I’ll help with anything you need me to. I’m not going to join your band!”

This was why it sucked that Miles was fucking _hours_ away from London. Alex was stuck on the fucking phone and couldn’t do anything else but beg and plead his case. If he were here right now, he could pummel some bloody sense into him, maybe shove the _Fender_ into his hands and remind him what an amazing feeling it was to play a song in front of a crowd!

In Liverpool, Miles spoke up. Quietly. Almost apologetic. “Are you okay? Are _we_ okay?”

“Yes, we’re okay. Why wouldn’t we be?” He let it go for now. For the moment, he was out of options. But tomorrow was another day. And then, he’d have a plan! “Can’t force you, right?” Alex shrugged as he sat inside the empty living room. Eyes landed on the gift that had found its way into his lap. He’d almost picked the wrapping apart. “Looking at your gift now.” Making quick work of the rest of its papery shell, eyebrows furrowed when it revealed a plain white rectangular box, the size of his math book. He shook it, but it made no sounds. “It’s not one of those mean, supposedly funny gifts that explode or something, ‘cause they’re really not that funny in the end!”

Miles laughed. “No! Don’t worry. I’m well aware that you don’t like that shit. I tried really hard with yours! It wasn’t easy. Took me a long time.”

“Can I tear it open or do I need to be careful?”

“Tear ahead.”

He did. And when he saw, his heart veritably skipped a beat. It was such an unfamiliar sensation that, for a split second, he worried he was having a heart attack. At sixteen! “Miles…”

“You like it?” he asked softly. “It’s not weird, is it? I’m not making fun of you or anything. I really believe that! And I know you’re excited about your upcoming gigs and all that but sometimes you talk as if you don’t believe in it. Like you don’t see what I see. Maybe this will help.”

Shaky fingers ran over the black wooden frame. Inside, behind a thin layer of glass, was a picture of his band, taken on the night of their first gig. And below, written in Miles’ scrawny handwriting, it said, _‘Friday, September 6 th, 2002. The Beginning of History.’_” For the first time in his life, he had to pay conscious thought to taking in a deep breath for Miles’ gift had indisputably taken his legs out. Words wobbled from dried lips. “You have that much faith in us?”

“I do.”

Why didn’t he want in on the ride, then?

“Can I open yours, now?”

His gift? Alex cringed. “Can I have a do-over? Like, yours is really thoughtful and good! Mine’s lame.”

“I’m sure it’s not! Come on, let me open it!”

“Go ahead,” he said, resigned. There was a squeal, full of bright joy, and it snatched a laugh from him, too fast for him to stop it. Paper was shredded, rustling sounds drifted through the phone, and then – silence. Alex sighed. “Told you it’s bad.”

“Alex, are you insane?” Shock filled his tone. “This must have cost you a bloody fortune!”

It had not. He’d saved up a lot. All neatly tucked away into a small cardboard box upon which, with a Sharpie, he’d written “ _J-45_ ”. He was nowhere near the sum required for one and figured he could take some of the money and make an investment of a different kind. “I couldn’t afford the _335_ , but at least you got the proper strap for it, now.”

“This is real leather.”

“ _Gibson_ straps usually are,” he muttered. Only to add, while scratching his ear self-consciously, “had it engraved.”

“What?” More rustling. Then, as though he was seeing a ghost, Miles whispered, “It’s got my name on it.”

“Yep.”

“Thank you, Alex. Thank you so much! You know, if I were home right now, I’d give you a hug.”

He’d really like one. He’d really like to give him one, too. “Only eight more days ‘til you return. I’ll cash in on it when you’re back.”

“Do it.”

“If we got time for a hug, then. What with all the stress of finding a new guitarist…”

**#2018**

The impact of the scotch was beginning to show. Alex lost his interest in disputes and accusations, even stopped with the petty pokes and sour quips. Instead, he just wanted to know. To get it. To figure out what had gone wrong, when it had begun, and why Miles was remembering stuff so very differently from how he did. “Was it the guitar strap that made you change your mind, or did I accidentally land on a good argument?”

A breathy, liquor-mellowed chuckle slipped free. “I suppose the strap played a role. I don’t know if I ever made it clear…” His lips wore the faintest smile. “That thing meant so much to me. Not just because back then it was worth a whole lot of money. I mean it still is. You called it an investment. Like you’d put your faith in me. I wasn’t even the one booking gigs at that point. You were. By the time I got back, you’d begged my ear off. Every single reason I’d had, you’d argued away. I remember thinking you’d be a hell of a student if you put all that energy into your homework. You looked miserable when you tried out those other musicians, even though two of ‘em were really good. Did you know that one ended up playing with _The Bloodhound Gang_ for a while?”

“Well, there’s your reason he wasn’t the right fit for us,” countered Alex, giving up on his inner fight. Instead, he started to enjoy himself reminiscing with Miles, hard as it was at moments.

“That night, after you’d sent all the try-outs packing, you and I went home and you didn’t even ask me again. You just looked at me with those devastated eyes and I couldn’t bear to disappoint you. So I said ‘yes’.”

“I forced you, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No,” swore Miles. “I could have said ‘no’. If I’d said it loud enough, you’d have stopped. I know that.”

Would he? Miles put a lot more trust in Alex than he did in himself. Always had.

“I told you I’d do it for the two gigs. And you promised you’d keep looking for somebody else. But then came another gig. And another gig. And it was fun on stage. I had the time of my life playing with you, Alex. With you and the others. I wouldn’t want to trade those moments for anything else. It was never only one thing that led to the ending.” A lone finger traced the rim of the empty glass. “How’s Andy doing these days?”

“Good, I think. We sometimes talk.” As Alex filled him in on the former guitarist’s life, Miles paid attention, but he didn’t listen with the same attentiveness he awarded other stories. He did listen. Carefully, however. Or, guarded. With distance. At some point, even with glee. Alex cut off, too irritated by it. “What’s that face?”

Miles changed his expression. “Huh?”

“I tell you that he’s got trouble finding a new band and I fucking swear you smirked! You think it’s funny?”

His response was a bored, “No.”

“Whoa,” mocked Alex, “don’t rush with the apology!”

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about him. It was going so well between us.”

“You kidding? A friend struggles and you don’t care? Not only that, you—”

“He’s not my friend,” bit Miles, making it obvious he was done discussing it.

Good for him. Alex wasn’t! “He was!”

Miles squared his shoulders, his demeanor resolute. His posture sent a wave of utter confusion through every inch of Alex’s being. Not because it was lacking any sympathy or taking aim at somebody Alex cared about. Right here, in front of him, was a history that he didn’t understand. Two people that mattered a great deal to him – more or less – had a past that he was entirely unaware of.

Alex barreled ahead, stubborn that he was, gunning for a clarification. “Last time you saw Andy, you fucking hugged goodbye!”

“Let it go, Alex.”

“No!”

Miles shook his head, waved for the waiter, held up his empty glass.

“What the fuck is this? He’s an upstanding guy! You do know that his father-in-law is our manager, right? Andy met his wife when she and Richard were out on tour with us. He came to a show, we all had dinner, caught up, that’s how they met – he’s had it rough since he left the band. Never caught a break, always had to fight for a chance—”

“That what he told you?”

“Yes,” he roared with defiance. The drinks arrived. Two, even though Miles had ordered only one. Maybe the waiter had sensed Alex’s thirst for he tackled it the second he got his hand on it.

Before Miles put his lips to the glass, he handed over a fifty Pound note. “Thanks for the service tonight. Bill’s taken care of, you said?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Thank you.” Those two small words, directed at the staff and not at him, were the last he heard Miles speak that night. Safe for a single other one. After he’d finished his drink, quickly this time around, he got up, gave a curt nod in Alex’s direction, and withdrew his phone from the table. “Night.”

Alex stared after him in disbelief. “Well, that was some fucking weird night…”

.

.

** Spoilers Chapter 8: **

#

A fucking car had rammed into him. That’s how Alex felt. Completely thrown off. Lost and dumbstruck and unable to follow. “Who said what?” He swallowed to speak clearer. His throat kept running dry. A plethora of emotions ripped his mind to shreds. “I mean… _what_?”

Nick was incredulous. “Come on! Did you not hear?”

“Hear what?” ground Alex.

“The comments?”

#

“You know I’m just looking out for you, right? You’re my favorite thing in the world,” hushed Daniel and neared his lips once more.

“Us singers don’t care for our health,” spoke Alex, aware and without a care that his booming voice tore through the room like a selfish cry for attention. Everyone looked. He remained nonplussed. “It’s true. We rock stars, we smoke, we drink, we fuck, and we play hard. Why do you think Miles is one? Not ‘cause he likes to eat his vegetables, although he does that, too.”

An indecipherable expression grew on Miles features.

The one on Daniel’s face was clear as the night’s sky. “That so?” he bit out.

“Here we go,” muttered Matt.

“Ten bucks on Turner,” called Nick, grabbed his beer, and sat back.

#


	8. Change

**#2018**

**#Alex**

“Don’t ever fucking do that again, are we clear?” It was near noon by the time Alex arrived at the airport. Today, they were scheduled to depart for Amsterdam where they’d perform the penultimate show of their tour. Everyone else had already gathered in the private waiting area, cleared out especially for them. Alex knew he was late. But last evening’s dinner with Miles had left him with a sleepless night full of resurfacing memories and more confusion than ever. Unable to make sense of it in a way that would help clear his head, the tangled knots of his mind made for a persisting headache and put him in a foul mood. He dumped his duffle into the empty seat next to Matt. “Miles and I are none of your business! I don’t fuck with your life, do I?”

As if Alex’s outburst was the first interesting thing to happen in a long while, Nick, sitting next to Matt, shot forward. Ears perked, tail wagging, he was the spitting image of a dog who’d sniffed a bone. “What did he do?”

“Blind date?” Jamie guessed, matching Nick’s excitement by immediately straightening up in his seat. “Was it good?”

Alex glared. “Nosy bunch!”

Matt hit Jamie’s arm, reaching all the way over Nick to do it.

And Jamie guffawed as something occurred to him. “Fucking get out! You did set ‘em up on a blind date?”

Nick’s grin was instant. “Spill, Alex. How did it go?”

Groaning from Matt, who dropped his face into his hand. “Considering he’s pissed at me, I’d say not good,” he deduced bleakly.

“Yeah, duh!” Nick rolled his eyes. “But did it go ‘not good’ _before_ or _after_ the goodnight kiss?”

“Or was it a goodnight fuck?” Jamie winked, knowing no shame.

Alex’s eyes became small and vicious. “For your fucking information,” he seethed, “there was no kissing, no fucking, and barely a nice word at all! We talked, fine. But—” God damnit! What had last night been? For a very few, select moments, he’d actually had a good time! And nobody was more stumped about that than he! He’d always gotten along fantastically with Miles. It was the fucking reason he’d fallen so madly in love with him in the first place. With Miles, the world was different. Funnier. Brighter. More exciting. For crying out loud, even being mad at him was a unique affair. Nobody could make his blood boil faster than Miles could, and yet at the same time, nobody could make him forget his anger at just the same speed. For fourteen years, he’d done just fine accepting the distance and he’d long held the belief that time healed everything eventually. But it had done shit to lessen the pain and the long-burning questions. At the start of last night’s dinner, he’d been fully prepared to bolt after a few minutes. He had not foreseen that he’d stay for hours!

Matt grew restless, waiting for Alex to continue. “But what?”

“It was weird.” Alex tossed the duffle off the seat and sat down with a sigh, dying to vent his frustration to somebody and get it out of his system. “We were talking about how things were back in the day. So much of what he said…I mean, did you know he never wanted to be part of our band?”

The others let out a collective snort. “Eh,” Nick volunteered, “he kinda said that. Like, out loud. To everyone.”

Well, yes! Alex had been there that day back in time when he’d informed the others that Miles was a stellar guitar player and that he wanted him to take over Andy’s spot. Of bloody-fucking course Miles had said he didn’t want to be part of the band. Miles had always worried about other people’s opinions. Constantly! “He only said that so you wouldn’t think he was jumping at the chance. Andy was there when I first suggested he fill his shoes.” Alex was dying to hear their opinions, for he did not know how to combine Miles’ version of the past with his own. “What should he have said? Happy to do it?”

“Yes?” proposed Jamie. “Seriously, Al. Did you not listen when Miles spoke? It wasn’t false modesty. He genuinely felt uncomfortable. He said it all the time. And I don’t blame him!”

“Yeah,” agreed Matt. “Like, the stuff some of the kids said about him? That was rough!”

A fucking car had rammed into him. That’s how he felt. Completely thrown off. Lost and dumbstruck and unable to follow. “Who said what?” He swallowed to speak clearer. His throat kept running dry. A plethora of emotions tore his mind to shreds. “I mean… _what_?”

Nick was incredulous. “Come on! Did you not hear?”

“Hear what?” ground Alex.

“The comments?” Matt’s face morphed from bewildered to sympathetic. “After Andy left, they called him a tick. Said he was sleeping in Andy’s bed, drinking Andy’s wine, eating Andy’s food. Bad shit. Nick and I tried to cut that off; threatened some of the assholes who did it, but Andy was popular, and you know how it goes. People didn’t hate Miles. They liked Andy. It was a tough situation.”

“Remember Anne’s friend, piano-ass?” Jamie’s mien got dark recalling him. Alex devoured each word he heard, like a true-crime podcast that revealed new clues with each new episode, each remark set the stage for something even more unsettling. “He came to me a few times the summer before Miles arrived in Sheffield. Lived two houses away from me. Was desperate to join our band. Told him we didn’t need one for the keys.”

“He didn’t want to play the keys,” blurted Nick. “He wanted to be our friend. Wouldn’t have minded either, but dude has always been a dick. Couldn’t handle it when Jamie said ‘no’. Well, Miles gets here. Basically becomes your best friend on day one. Everyone in school knew that Miles was asked to join our band. He didn’t beg, like a lot of others did. They were jealous of him. First, he had the popular best mate, then the older, hot-as-fuck girlfriend, then he was being gifted a spot in a band—”

“One he fucking deserved,” Alex retorted angrily.

“Yes,” said Matt. “We know that.”

“They,” added Jamie, “didn’t care!”

“It was school, Alex. All of us were dumb kids,” said Matt. “We did bad shit, too.”

“Piano-ass,” spoke Alex, grating at having to use his nickname for he hated its lack of bite, “he called Miles my lapdog.”

“One of the kinder things he said.”

Alex leaned back in his seat, struggling with these revelations. “Did Miles know? Like, was he aware? He never said anything to me. He would have said something, would he not?” Miles’ words from last night echoed back in his head. He’d admitted that there had been more than just one dumb remark. He’d conceded that even that one thing he hadn’t been able to brush off in its entirety. “I could have done something. If I’d known…” Why hadn’t anyone told him about it back then? He fucking would have done something! He’d have kicked some asses and punched a dick or two! Who had those fuckers been to think they could pass judgment on his Miles?

“Yes, Miles knew!”

“Everyone knew,” Matt said.

Not everyone! “I didn’t!”

“No,” agreed Nick.

Alex snapped his eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You didn’t want to know, Alex. You were busy being happy. I know that you heard some of the stuff, ‘cause I stood next to you when that shit was being said! And Miles heard it. And Nick,” listed Jamie. “And Matt. We all did. But you chose not to hear it. Each time it happened, you’d raise your voice and talk about some nonsense and distract Miles with a question, something like that. You tried _not_ to hear it.” He paused, his voice softening. “I don’t blame you. I don’t know how I would have reacted in your place. When I’m with Katie, I try to keep the bad shit away from her. And then I forget about the bad shit, too. She never does. She can give you endless lists of names that have been shouted her way. Insults, horrible things. I can’t name one. Not ‘cause I don’t care. But I get angry when I pay too much attention. I feel awful about it. I don’t know how to deal with it. She has to. It’s not fair.”

“Is that why you’re not mad at him?” wondered Alex quietly. He’d always wanted to ask ‘em. After Miles had resurfaced in London a year after leaving Sheffield, they themselves had slowly arrived in the city. Gig by gig they’d established their band and taken over the clubs. Eventually, his band members had run into Miles. They’d slipped right back into being friends. “‘cause people were mean to him and you feel guilty about it?”

Matt shrugged. “He wasn’t my boyfriend, so I guess it’s different. He didn’t break my heart. I was mad at him for leaving us hanging. Of course, I was. But, it’s not like I never screwed up. Or wanted to run away from home. Start over.”

“You?” Alex gaped. “What? When were you ever unhappy?!”

Scoffing and amusement mixed as Matt tried to explain, “It’s not about being happy! There were days when it was a lot. There are still days when it’s a lot. When I just want to be some Joe Normal with a nine-to-five job and not somebody whose entire year is pre-planned and whatnot.”

Jamie offered a small smile that was bigger on the left side and lacking strength on the right, one Alex had come to learn meant Jamie wanted something from him. Wanted him to relent. Or give in. “Why do you think we’d like a pause from our normal routine and push the next album for a year.”

Eyes shot open wide. “A year?!” Weeks, Matt had said. Months, maybe. But an entire fucking year? What was he supposed to do in all that time? Hibernate?

An electronic voice called for their flight and everyone got up. Everyone except Alex. “I was ready to give a month.”

“I’ll aim for two years,” countered Nick. “Let’s meet in the middle.”

“Two years?” He grabbed his bag, shouldered it. “What the fuck do you want to do for two years? Die of boredom?”

“Travel the world,” said Nick. “Meet people, plan a family. Live life? Never wish for that?”

“No,” Alex admitted with honesty. Who was there to meet? He could travel the world in a tour bus. Even though, since the last album, they’d upgraded to planes, hotels, and the occasional private jet. Family planning held no appeal to him. And life? Didn’t he live it already? He breathed heavily and followed his band to the gate. “Can’t force you to record, can I?”

A laugh from Jamie. “You always say that.”

“So?”

“Never realized how much people do for you?”

“Maybe I’m persuasive.”

“Or tenacious…” muttered Jamie.

Eyes pinched. That didn’t sound like a compliment.

**#Miles**

“I took the weekend off.”

Giving a faint nod, Miles sorted through his stack of lyrics and notes, old and new, looking for a specific one he wanted to tinker with.

“The one you go to Paris.”

“Yeah, heard you.” They had to be somewhere. He’d worked on it last Tuesday, then he’d stuffed the pile of sheet music into the drawer – a hurried act of cleaning up since his mother had knocked on the door that day – and then...then what? They weren’t in the drawer. But—

“Thought I could come with you.”

“To where?” He’d no plans to leave the house. He wanted to hole up in his studio, bring out the old electric and— “The guitar case!” He’d wanted to fiddle with the lyrics two days ago, but he’d gotten sidetracked.

“Paris.”

Miles exhaled deeply. Bit his tongue. Forced out a smile when turning around. “Sorry, distracted. What’s all that? Who’s in Paris?”

“You,” grinned Daniel. “With me. Next weekend. I know you got your thing, meeting the fashion people, that stuff. Don’t want to get in your way. Just…I got time and fashion people don’t work in the evening, especially not in Paris,” he joked. “So, maybe we could go out, have dinner? Find a nice, romantic hotel…”

He’d set the date for meeting the designer and the PR people for the label he collaborated with for next Friday on purpose. Friday night would be the final _Arctic Monkeys_ concert. In Paris. And this way, he had a perfectly reasonable motive for being in the city. Even if Alex found out, he wouldn’t need to lie. He could state, in all sincerity, that he was in Paris for a work-thing.

Not a date-thing. “Er…”

The smile fell from Daniel’s lips.

And Miles felt like shit. “I mean, I suppose…”

Hope bloomed. “Or you take Friday for business and we take Saturday for us.”

There was no way out of it now, was there? “Um…Friday night…” He was lying left and right these days, wasn’t he? “Sorta got invited to a concert. A _Monkeys_ concert…”

“Alex invited you?”

A deft snort. “Certainly not. He’s got no idea about it. Matt did.” He made a mental note to text Matt and have him cover. His fucking ongoing fascination with his past was becoming stressful! And after his dinner with Alex the other day, he had planned to cancel the trip and never see another show again. Make a cut. Finally move on.

He’d also wanted to cancel on the bachelor party. But that one was for Jamie. And he really wanted to go. Hanging out with everyone, he missed that. Who knew when the next chance for that would arrive? Then it had occurred to him that Paris was the last gig and who knew when the next concert would arrive! Matt had mentioned a break. Those could stretch into years of radio silence. It happened fast!

Daniel moved into Miles’ arms. “I’ve never seen them live. We could go together.”

Yey.

“Fine. I mean, sure. I’ll see what I can do.”

**#Alex**

**#2003**

They sat on the edge of the stage, feet dangling off. Shirts were sweaty, skin was, too. The loud and blaring sound of the music coming from the speakers right behind them scarcely registered. They were too used to the booming noise of bass and treble and everything in between. A few moments ago, they’d finished their set. It was Valentine’s Day and the club was full of couples making out. Some enterprising kid had arrived with a bucket of cheap supermarket roses and was making a fortune selling ‘em for a Pound a piece. Alex angled to the side and ran his finger down the strap of Miles’ acoustic, which was in his friend’s lap. He followed the rich brown leather – a color he’d chosen because it had reminded him of Miles’ eyes – down to the knob where it attached to the instrument. He liked the fine texture of the material, the way it was warm and soft, even though it looked hard and unyielding. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

“The strap?” asked Miles, sending a chuckle his way right as their gazes met. “It’s awesome!”

A smirk flew to Alex’s lips. “Playing with us, I mean. But yes, I know the strap is awesome. I picked it.”

“And everything you pick is awesome?”

“Are you teasing me?”

The smile on his face was sly. “Maybe.”

He couldn’t stop staring at him. And he didn’t know why. Miles looked exactly the same as he did yesterday. Or the day before. Or even the day before that. His hair hadn’t changed. His style hadn’t. His eyes were still brown. Although, now that he thought about it, brown was not the right term to describe those. He tried to envision all shades related to brown, from burnt oxblood to dark gold to the color he imagined the sand of the Sahara desert had at sunset when the last rays crawled away leaving hot grains in its wake. None of it matched. Strange color, that one. The one Miles’ eyes had. Sometimes, if he looked into ‘em for long enough, he swore it changed. Got darker, somehow.

It vexed him greatly. And so he kept staring. Not just because of the mysterious brown. Also because of his ears. He’d never cared for ears before. They were ears. They served the purpose of hearing. There really wasn’t any more to them. With him, though? It was something about the shape. The swooping curve on top. The tilting slope of the sides. Like the once ragged coastline of an island that had smoothed out after eons of water rushing against its shores. And his lobes? How delicate they looked. Sensitive. He’d bet Miles was ticklish. He’d never dared to find out for sure ‘cause he was ticklish and he feared Miles would tickle back if he ever did.

“We got offered to play another set next weekend,” he told him, his focus by now on the damp cotton shirt he wore. Dark grey. There was a tiny hole, barely visible, right there by the neck. Alex had the wildest urge to poke it.

Miles’ smile lessened. “‘nother one?”

“I thought you’d be happy.”

“For you, I am.”

“For us,” said Alex.

“How far along are you with finding Andy’s replacement?”

“ _You_ are Andy’s replacement.”

“Alex—”

“Not gonna find a new one ‘til next Friday!”

“Fine.”

“He called. Andy did. Said he met some cool people at his new school. He’s trying to set up his own band.”

Lackluster didn’t begin to describe the face Miles made.

Alex recoiled, baffled. “It’s good for him. He wants to try himself as the lead. Told him it takes guts to take the mic. Balls.”

“Arrogance,” mumbled Miles.

“You think I’m arrogant?”

“No, Alex, I don’t.” The smile had completely vanished. Annoyance had arrived and made its presence known. “Not everything’s about you.”

“Meaning what?”

As if weighing the pros and cons of telling him and then deciding against the idea summarily, Miles briefly met his eyes before looking away again. “Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it. Want something to drink?”

“Yeah.” Out of options, Alex gave up, shoulders sagging with resignation. “Whatever.”

Miles made it two steps away from the stage. Then paused, turned back, handed Alex his acoustic. “This is a good night.” A new smile appeared. One a little forced. “Let’s celebrate. Your band rocked the house!”

“ _Our_ band,” he stated, blowing out a breath. Miles was doing this on purpose, was he not? Taking himself out of the equation? “You play with us, even if it’s just temporarily,” he stretched, stealing Miles' chance to nitpick again. “ _We_ rocked the house.” Putting the acoustic away, he got up as well and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. As though the physical nearness underscored the message he was trying to send. “People on stage with instruments equal a band. _One_ band. It’s _we_. Get that into your thick skull!”

Miles snorted.

Alex grinned. “Drinks on me. Let’s see if we can’t get the barkeeper to sneak some good shit into our cokes. After all, I’m seventeen now! All grown up.”

The snort became a roar of laughter. “Wise and humble, too. I know the owner told you that all our drinks would be free tonight. It’s not on you if you don’t pay for it.”

“I’ll pay a token Pound if that makes you thank me for ‘em!”

“You gotta do more than pay a Pound to score my thanks.”

“Two Pounds,” offered Alex, as always greatly entertained by their silly back and forth.

“A drop to your knees?”

Alex gasped. “Miles Kane! A dirty joke? I didn’t know you had that in you!”

“Alex Turner,” mocked Miles, faking outrage, “what dirty mind you have!”

“Not half as rotten as yours!” The arm around his neck drew tighter and he leaned in to whisper, “What do you think it’s going to take to get us two whiskeys?”

Miles twisted his head, a move that had his lips sideswiping Alex’s cheek and by that causing him to completely lose focus, sending the most astonishing and peculiar jolt of electricity up Alex’s spine. “Both of us on our knees?”

Hallelujah, they’d reached the bar. Thanks to the lewd picture Miles’ words had painted, Alex was suddenly incapable of replying. Neither joke nor gibberish. His brain had short-circuited. He felt electroshocked. A million volts ran through his veins. And if it weren’t for Matt, who appeared out of nowhere, and shoved his arm, ambling for attention, Alex would have done the single most insane thing imaginable.

He’d have kissed Miles.

What an utterly unsettling thought!

**#2018**

“What a show, huh?” Backstage in Paris, inside the tents and make-shift rooms that popped up like magic at the speed of sound during open-air events, Matt swooped Miles into a tight hug. “Man, glad you could make it. Feared you’d bolt! Considering your history with Al—”

Alex, standing right next to Matt, hit his shoulder hard. Then he cleared his throat, dabbed his sweaty face with a towel, wiped his hands with it, and extended one. “Daniel, nice to meet you. You know, officially.”

It immediately triggered Miles’ suspicion. He let go of Matt, to observe Alex with wariness.

Daniel, meanwhile, hesitated. His sight skimmed the sweaty towel, then Alex’s patiently outstretched hand. “Nice, indeed.” He shook it reluctantly.

Staring at their joined hands, Alex inwardly groaned. For Christ’s sake, what was it that Miles liked about this guy? His handshake was weak, almost soggy. His stance was far from confident. At least he’d left the pastel shirts back in London, but that mix of grey denim pants and a light knit sweater didn’t do much for him, either. He still looked freakishly boring to the point of annoyingly so. _But_ he wouldn’t commentate on any of that. He was on his best behavior tonight. Last night, Matt had come to him, had told him that Miles and Daniel were coming to the show and that Matt had offered they’d join them backstage afterward.

For half an hour, Alex had thrown a fit. A well-deserved one, as Alex found. Then Matt had threatened to call his mom and he, naturally, had given in.

“Consider it a dry-run for the bachelor party,” Nick, who’d observed the scene as though it was a spectacle, had quipped. “You, liquor, and Miles. All you have to do is _not_ start a fight.”

“He’ll die trying,” Matt had laughed.

Shrugging both their ways now, Alex extended his arm and motioned for the lavish couch that filled their large dressing room, if anything more interested in proving to his band members that he _could_ play nice than to actually _be_ nice. “Please, have a seat. We got a bunch of drinks. There are sandwiches and snacks. Feel free to take whatever. And if you need something, by all means, come ask me. I’m happy to help!”

“What’s with him?” Miles, skeptical as always, pulled his nose up. He _never_ trusted Alex’s friendly side. Never had!

“I think we challenged him to be pleasant,” figured Nick. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

The door flung open and some people milled in and out. Some PR, some from the venue checking if all was good or if services were required. When they left, Richard entered. “Alex, care for a quick meet and greet with some fans?” He looked up from his iPad to Alex. Spotted Miles. Looked away.

Witnessing that as well as Miles’ corresponding act of hastily averting his eyes, Alex jolted up. “What was…” There it was again, that secretive bit of history between people he knew, people around him, a history that didn’t involve him but left him infuriatingly intrigued. Spotting curious eyes on him, he shut up. Got to his feet. And acted benevolently. “Sure, why not.”

“Seriously,” burst Jamie. “What the fuck is wrong with you tonight?”

“What?” asked Alex. “Can’t I go meet some fans?”

“Have you ever?”

“All the time!”

“On your own free will,” specified Jamie.

A beat. “Sometimes?”

Richard cleared his throat. “Alex, now or…?”

“Coming.” He hurried after him. He had no fucking interest in meeting fans after shows. It was awful. He knew. It wasn’t that he was opposed to it in general. But after a show? That’s when he wanted to relish the high of a performance with those he knew. Tonight, however, his post-gig bliss was cut in half if not in less by the presence of a certain doc from _Boring-Town_. And this escape offered the perfect opportunity to dig for some answers.

“There’s something going on between you and Miles. What is it?” He fell into step with Richard on their way to the meeting area. He’d been vaguely aware of it before. Had heard rumors. He’d brushed it off as two people not getting along. It happened. That was then. Now, he knew there was a story behind it all. And he wanted the details! “Tell me.”

“Nothin’,” said Richard.

“It’s not nothing,” protested Alex. “It’s something. Fill me in!”

“It’s long over.”

“Obviously not. I saw the look just now! Got into a fight or…like, what?”

“Let it go.”

Yeah, like that was going to happen! “That’s what Miles said.”

Richard stopped walking. “You speak to Miles about me?”

Alex came to a halt as well. “Not about you! And in case you forgot, Miles and I didn’t speak for a whole bunch of years! Matt got involved. Fucking long story. Andy came up and I mentioned you’re his father-in-law. Miles reacted exactly the way you do right now. What the fuck is this about?”

“It’s complicated. I made a mistake. It’s over now.”

“A mistake? What mistake?” Driving his hands through his hair, Alex got more agitated by the second. Nothing got on his nerves more than a tale that was being kept from him. “Is it about Andy? Does he have something to do with it?”

“Let it go, Alex!” He walked on with brisk steps, evading him.

Alex sprinted to keep up.

They reached the pre-selected fans. He did his smiles and signed his signatures and made a quip and posed and when it was over, Richard had disappeared. “Fucking hell!”

By the time he got back to their dressing room, everyone was merrily chatting away. The door stood open and Alex paused in its way, not quite ready to enter. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t made his presence known, hadn’t even fully stepped into anyone’s line of sight.

Was it a surprise, then, that Miles noticed him first? Immediately?

Alex gave a curt nod, flicked his chin to the left, beckoned him out for a word. Then he turned and hid in the corridor, lest anyone else became aware of him.

“Be right back,” he heard Miles say.

Pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, Alex headed in the other direction. Out of the make-shift rooms and corridors. Past the occasional roadie and stranger. “How’d you find the show?”

“Stellar,” said Miles, the one-word compliment short but not lacking depth. “Thanks for this. I hadn’t meant to bring him. To come to the show, I mean. It kinda…doesn’t matter. This must be hard for you.”

“Why?”

“’cause it’d be hard for me if I had to be nice to the one you’re with,” allowed Miles.

He’d changed. Alex realized it not for the first time. Old Miles wouldn’t have admitted to such a profound truth, especially not this quickly, or, rather, this openly. It used to be him who’d spoken freely from the heart. He’d never been good at keeping his thoughts inside.

“Wanna hear something funny?” They made it to the outside. The icy night air hit their faces. Made their cheeks tense. Alex breathed in deeply and his chest expanded as a cloud of coldness spread inside of him. It calmed his energy and awoke his mind at the same time. “It’s not that hard, to be honest.” His shoulders gave a small jump. “Knowing you came to the other concerts and not stayed for a word was harder.”

In the midst of reaching for a cigarette from Alex, Miles turned to stone. Motionless, he simply stood there, shock written all over his face. “You know?”

“Yes. Never told anybody, though.” Taking a deep drag from the cigarette, Alex smiled to himself, partly amused and party puzzled. Less by his feelings, more by his willingness to confess to them, especially the ones that might paint him in a light he felt unbecoming. Odd how roles had reversed. “I don’t know why, but I always know when you’re there. I saw a clip on the news once, about a woman who got attacked by a man hiding in the backseat of her car. She said she knew that something was off the moment she’d sat down in the car although she didn’t know what it was precisely. A shift in the air, she called it. Everything was exactly as it always had been, except it wasn’t and she’d sensed it. I suppose it’s a bit like that when you hide in the audience. It makes me more conscious of my surroundings. At times, I set out to spot you. But you hide well.”

Shifting on his feet, looking somewhat lost, he gave his shoulder a tilt. “It’s easy these days. The crowds are large.” His lips twitched with wry humor. “I’m a backseat stalker, then? Is that what you’re saying? Fair enough. I admit it’s weird.”

“Between you and I, normal never applied. Stalker sounds dreadfully evil. You’re a ghost in my rearview mirror.”

“Poetic and creepy.”

“I should write a song about it,” mused Alex and humored that notion for a moment. “A long winding tale about a man on the eternal trail for a happiness he once called his, not knowing if he’ll ever find it again. And a ghost riding in the back, commenting on every decision he makes, daring him to go wrong and not right, pushing him to find bliss in others places.”

Miles gave his best to mask a shaky inhale, attempted to shield it by smoking, but Alex saw. And Miles saw that he saw. “If bliss awaits,” he asked, then, “doesn’t that mean you travel the right road?”

“There’s more than one happiness in the world, I’ve been told. Still, when you listen to the songs, you’ll find there’s only one that counts.” Alex withdrew his eyes from him and stared into the sky instead. “Only one made specifically for you. Sometimes I think life is a big puzzle and growing up means gathering all the pieces. You find a lot that look _almost_ right. But when you put ‘em in place, they just don’t fit. At times, it feels to me, I drown in _almost-_ pieces and can’t find the ones I had and lost.”

Miles nearly whispered, now. He’d forgotten about his cigarette. “Do you really believe you find the most important one at sixteen? What are the odds.”

Alex smiled. “Low to none,” he presumed. “Then again, people don’t become famous. Who gets lucky enough to live their dreams? That only happens to others, right? Yet, here we are.” He observed him from the side, made mental images of his expressions, recordings of his words, took notes of his own sentences and Miles’ immediate reactions to those. Later, when he’d be alone, he’d return to them, pick them apart, search for clues. Clues for what, he couldn’t say. The dim light from a nearby parking car hit Miles head-on and Alex’s lips quirked as he silently laughed at himself. “Know any other term for brown?”

“Huh?”

“Forget it.” He tossed the dead butt away and gathered his full voice, changing the topic. “Richard said he’d made a mistake.”

“‘bout what?”

“You, I suppose. I was asking him about you. What mistake?”

“Bet on the wrong horse,” Miles volleyed back. “It’s cold. Let’s head back inside.”

“He doesn’t do horse betting.”

Chuckles from Miles. “Not anymore. Lost good, after all.”

“Miles!”

“Let it go,” he said, no longer amused.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Your cheeks are glowing,” noticed Daniel, running a hand over Miles’ face. “Were you outside?”

“Quick smoke,” said Miles.

Alex watched and listened from his spot in the doorway as the couple spoke in low tones. It was so similar to the kind of conversations he used to have with Miles. And yet, vastly different. Where Daniel wanted contact, Miles wiggled for space. He’d never done that back then. Seeing it now made Alex contemplate whether Miles hadn’t dared to seek it or hadn’t craved it with him. He must have craved it for he did leave to have freedom, after all. Maybe this was the solution he’d come up with, how he could endure a partner. At a certain distance, just close enough, yet far away.

“Smokin’s bad for you,” Daniel reminded him. “Makes your voice croak, sweetheart. Told you. As a singer, you should keep that in mind.” He pecked his lips. Alex spotted the vaguest tremor in Miles’ response. Was he not keen about the kiss or was it Alex’s wishful thinking?

“You know I’m just looking out for you, right? You’re my favorite thing in the world,” hushed Daniel and neared his lips once more.

“Us singers don’t care for our health,” spoke Alex, aware and without a care that his booming voice tore through the room like a selfish cry for attention. Everyone looked. He remained nonplussed. “It’s true. We rock stars, we smoke, we drink, we fuck, and we play hard. Why do you think Miles is one? Not ‘cause he likes to eat his vegetables, although he does that, too.”

An indecipherable expression grew on Miles features.

The one on Daniel’s face was clear as the night’s sky. “That so?” he bit out.

“Here we go,” muttered Matt.

“Ten bucks on Turner,” called Nick, grabbed his beer, and sat back.

Alex’s cheeks dimpled. “You worry ‘bout his cigarettes? That little health nut you call your boyfriend, he’s got quite a reputation under his belt.” To emphasize that, even though the figure of speech had nothing to do with the actual belt that Miles’ wore, Alex gave it a quick glance, subsequently awarding his words with an entirely new layer of meaning.

Miles glared. An unmistakable warning.

Daniel blushed.

Jamie grinned and reached for a bag of M&Ms. “Twenty on Kane.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout.” Alex portrayed the picture of purest innocence while chuckling at his friends’ goads. God, even he didn’t know what he was doing. He’d seen Daniel get all boyfriendish on Miles and something had snapped. It wasn’t even a bad thing that had slipped from his mind and out of his mouth. Just a simple opinion. Fine, that bit about the belt had maybe scraped on questionable. On the other hand, everyone knew Alex liked being cheeky.

“Don’t you?” questioned Daniel. “Know, that is? I would speculate that you know quite a lot about him. You were friends, a long, long time ago. Exes, now.”

Matt snickered. “Fifty on the new guy!”

“Just a joke,” eased Alex. “I’m a funny guy. Ask Miles.”

“See, I did ask him about you,” the boyfriend told him, his tongue now sharpened. “My love told me he barely remembered you.”

_His love?_

How sad was it that Daniel considered it necessary to remind him of that. And also, what a naughty liar Miles was. “No?” Alex crossed his arms. “Didn’t seem like it the other night. I would argue his memory was performing admirably.” Gazing down, lowering his lids a tad, he supplemented his tone with a note of sinfulness. “Left me quite breathless at times.”

Lips squeezed into a thin line. Miles took a menacing step forward. Not to shield or protect his boyfriend from Alex, however. No, Alex had the unshakable suspicion that Miles might have even forgotten he had a boyfriend in the room. “What are you doing?” he hissed through gritted teeth, not stopping but closing in on Alex.

Holding his stare, holding his position, squaring his shoulders, Alex dug in. Poking the lion. Daring him to show his teeth. “Just a joke. Not more.” That fucking brown, he fretted, devouring the color and its intensity, wholly enraptured by its shifting shades and the clouds of dark grey that began to hide it from him. It made him angry, made him look harder, made him close the distance and—

“Time out,” barked Jamie, shooting off the couch and diving between the former lovers with haste. “We do not want to make a huge mistake, right? Cold drinks, that’s what we need. And fresh air. Alex!” He grabbed his arm. “Let’s go!”

“Know what, we go,” suggested Daniel eagerly, fingers linking with Miles’, who’d yet to look away. “There’s a nice hotel room and a bottle of champagne waiting for us. Romance and Paris, all that.”

Alex’s jaw ticked. His mood shifted. He let go of Miles’ eyes. Met Daniel’s. Pulled the corner of his mouth up with impunity. “Hope you didn’t splurge on some Dom. That’d be a waste of his hard-earned money. He’s more of a beer and cookies kind of guy.”

On the verge of saying something else, Daniel’s words got cut off by Miles’ lips, which went for a small peck. “You go ahead. Find a cab. I’ll be right there. Got something to chat about with Matt.”

Daniel hesitated, but Miles gave him a nudge and sealed his faith. He had to go. And left.

Matt got up as well. “What’s up?”

Spinning around, slamming the door shut, Miles got into Alex’s face in a split second. “I dare you to do that again!”

Of course! He’d stayed for him. Alex, celebrating his victory, pressed his shoulder blades to the hard door and warped one brow into a taunting arch. “Or what? Did I hurt him?” It was a perverse game of power they were playing. Here he was, with his upper back to the door while his lower back curved away from it. There was no route of escape. He was provoking Miles to take the bait and attack, offering himself as the snack, and yet, his submissive posture notwithstanding, he spoke like a tall-towering pillar who feared no greater consequences. He spat the words out like spoiled soup while throwing down the gauntlet. “Can’t handle a bit of truth?”

“That I hate champagne? Did you really need to make fucking show of pointing that out?” Venom gushed from Miles’ eyes like hot water bursting from a geyser. “And don’t even pretend like that shit about my memories was some fucking joke or what the fuck ever! If you didn’t want him here, all you had to do was fucking say so! Why did you even bother being nice to him in the first place, huh? What is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with _me_?” That made him charge. Alex brought his hands to Miles’ chest and shoved hard. Miles stumbled backward. “Nothing’s fucking wrong with _me_. Were you listening to what _he_ said? He taunted pretty good!”

‘“cause he feels threatened by you! You’re Alex Fucking Turner, a bloody rock star!”

It hit him. Miles didn’t see it, did he? Alex’s anger evaporated at the speed of light. Changing strategies, he brought his hands back to Miles’ chest, fisted the fabric of his shirt, and pulled hard. Possessively. Miles stumbled once more, forward, this time. His eyes bulged. Panic filled ‘em. Fear. Blackness. Want. Alex’s shoulders, terse and strong, collided with the door to the sound of a loud thwonk. With speed he roped his arms around Miles’ middle, locking him in, bringing his shell-shocked body flush against his own to let him in on a secret: He was hard and now, Miles knew. Ignoring his band members with their dropped jaws, or the fourteen years of suppressed physical attraction inside him that in this very second made his body shake in much the same way an earthquake announced an imminent volcanic eruption, he clenched his jaw and stared straight into Miles’ widespread, dusky eyes. Miles, by the way, was hard, too. “It’s not my name he feels threatened by.”

A second ticked by. Then two. Maybe fourteen years.

Until Miles ripped his eyes away first, and his body second. Both he did with disgust. “Fucking get away from me!”

“Fucking stay away from me!”

Yanking the door open, which forced Alex to jump aside, Miles all but stormed out. “Do what you always do,” shouted Alex, even after Miles was gone, “and fucking leave!” He gave the wall a kick.

Back on the couch, Nick whistled loudly. “Bravo,” he applauded. “Bravo!” Words dripped with sarcasm. “You had one fucking job, Alex!”

“Fucking bite me,” he barked on his way out.

.

.

** Spoiler Chapter 9: **

#

“He was pissing me off, alright?” Alex resumed watching the water. “He got proprietary. He was making a show of it. And…it got to me. I’m not proud of it.”

“Of gettin’ into it with him?” Miles scoffed, having none of that. “Tell that to somebody else. I saw that look on your face. You were gleefully rubbing your hands.”

“I was making a mess of it,” complained Alex, in true Turner-style. It wasn’t the deed he regretted, but the flawed execution.

#

A veil of sadness slid over his face as he raised his head, eyes bursting with insistence. “‘tisn’t true, Alex. I swear! Never wanted to be in the band. I only ever wanted you. Nothing else.”

Alex’s vision turned blurry and he felt sick, the sheer sum of revelations a rock that had fallen down upon him from high in the sky. Trying to deal with one admission at a time, he started with the most crushing one. “Andy did what?”

#


	9. Darkness

**Thank you all so much for your lovely words, your kudos, and your kindness. ❤️**

**#2018**

**#Miles**

Restless fingers fumbled with the lock, trying to get the bloody keycard inserted. The other one, Miles drove through the light curls of Daniel’s hair, trying to keep his head in place as his lips were hot on his mouth. 

“Slow down,” giggled his boyfriend, spinning around, then taking over the task of unlocking the door. It clicked open. Daniel’s paced step did nothing to block Miles’ impatient stride. Hands freed, he tugged on the shirt, wanting it gone. He wanted to tear it off of him but reigned himself in. The last time he’d gotten carried away, Daniel had been pissed about his ruined outfit, and that had killed Miles’ mood in no time. “Slow down,” said Daniel again. 

“Why?” Miles dove for the next kiss.

“We got all night!”

“So?” 

“There’s champagne and a large bathtub and a balcony and—”

“Hate champagne,” said Miles, kissed, then spoke again. “Want you. Now.” To be perfectly fair, he didn’t want Daniel. He wanted sex. But as much as he tried to get into it, even going as far as rushing himself in an effort to trick that elusive arousal into appearing by being too fast for it to escape once it arrived, it fucking didn’t work. 

The lips he kissed didn’t taste right. The texture was off. The shape was wrong. Suckling on it didn’t reward his own mouth with the sort of response he longed for. The tongue that tangled with his own wasn’t the right match. The steps didn’t align. The dance was tangoed by two people not meant for it. They were out of tune. The pace was faulty. Where he sought sinful games, Daniel wanted slow walks. 

It wasn’t just kissing, either.

It was fucking everything. 

He kissed and nipped and teased his skin, his throat, his body, and yet, the comeback was but a few strangled moans. Daniel fucking surrendered. He did all the time. He let Miles take the lead and literally rolled over. 

Miles had never realized it more clearly than he did right now, starting another fervent and zealous kiss, knowing Daniel wanted it romantic. Not speaking up, not taking a stand, his boyfriend let him have his way. 

Nothing felt right tonight. 

The hotel room was perfect and awful at once. The bed was wide and large and spacious – space! God, how he hated that term now that Alex had spat it back into his face like poisonous saliva. The walls were covered with blue silk fabric like an old palace might be. The windows ran from the floor to the ceiling. There were a chandelier and candles, crystal glasses, golden Dom Perignon, and a bowl of strawberries. It was grand and fine and intricate. 

Fuck Alex Turner. 

He wanted a fucking beer! 

He wanted a room, a simple, single room, a mattress, a bed, he didn’t care if it creaked or not, and he wanted Alex to grab his body and fucking do with him as he pleased. He’d never been touched by him like that before. He’d never been grabbed like that, hard, with vigor, with simmering want. And he’d most certainly never gotten fucking solid that quickly in front of witnesses. 

At seventeen, they’d been shy, they’d floundered and bumbled. They’d blushed and messed up and tried over. They’d learned together but they’d been timid, still. They’d held back, not sure how to let go, not knowing they were allowed to. They’d been insecure, afraid of their own desires and curiosities. 

At thirty-two, Miles knew exactly what he wanted, how he wanted it, and how to make sure his partners got what they wanted, themselves. How would Alex want it, now? Rough and hard? Wicked, like his character? Passionate? Slow, like the little romantic might like it, the one he’d buried deep in the darkest parts of his being? Or all at once?

He kissed him again, coaxed his tongue into his partner’s mouth, and groaned when – again! – the return was pliant capitulation. “Fuck!” He let up, stepped back, wiped his face with part disappointment and part disgust. Directed at whom, he couldn’t say and that it made him feel like shit. 

Daniel dropped down onto the bed, not with a wanton offer, but with quizzical eyes. “Wanna talk about it? Something is going on with you. Your head isn’t in it.”

Oh, his head was in it. The rest of him wasn’t! “No,” he said, grabbing the bottle of champagne and taking a swig right from it. Talking was the last thing he wanted to do right now. 

“Glasses, Miles. What do you think the flutes are for?”

“Decoration?” He took another swig. Grimaced. “I don’t get the price tag of this shit. It’s so fucking bland.”

“Try it with strawberries.”

At nearly two-hundred Pounds per bottle, that shit shouldn’t need strawberries to be tolerable! He put it down, popped a berry into his mouth, and leaned against one of the chairs. “I’m sorry.” His voice softened. “You had this great plan for tonight and…”

Reaching up, Daniel placed his palm against Miles’ stomach. “I heard you. Earlier. When I waited for you. You gave Alex hell for what he said. You stood up for me.”

Had he? Miles was pretty sure if it had been none other than him and Alex in that room, standing up for his boyfriend would have been the farthest thing on his mind, horrible as that was. For the fragment of a second, he’d wavered, earlier. He’d hesitated. Entertained an idea that would have been a mistake of epic proportions. One of red-hot satisfaction. 

Daniel’s phone rang. “Hold on.” At the sight of the caller ID, he flinched. “It’s the hospital. Told you about that patient of mine, the one with the rare— Well, I have to take this.” 

He nodded, then grabbed his jacket. “Takin’ a quick walk. Take your time.” He knew he would. Grabbing the bottle of Dom, he made his way out.

“Two million people live in this city. Of _all_ the ones I could run into, it has to be you?” Miles had no idea how far away from the hotel he’d walked or how much time had passed. It was dark and cold, and he reveled in both. _Had_ , that was, until now. Here, in the middle of Paris, in the center of one of the endless bridges that crossed the river Seine, stood Alex, gazing out across the water.

A streetlight next to him cast him into a low, ember glow. Lips were tugged up as he was apparently greatly amused at Miles’ words. “It’s Paris,” he said as if to bring that fact back to his mind, then feasted on the sight of the gentle waves playing on the water’s surface. “City’s a bitch. Likes to mess with things. Much like drummers do.”

Closing the distance, he mirrored his position and leaned over the railing. 

Fingers that weren’t his own wrapped around the neck of the bottle in his hand. Took it from him without asking. Alex brought it to his lips and drank some. “Boring shit, this one. To think that people pay a fortune for it.”

“Shocking, right?” Miles stared at the object in question with pure disdain. “I was told it’s better with strawberries.”

“Everything’s better with strawberries,” agreed Alex. “That doesn’t excuse shitty champagne. How come you’re havin’ it?”

“It stood there. In the room. It’s liquor, right?”

“Bad liquor.”

“Yeah, well I don’t see you carry any good stuff with you. It’s this or nothing. Spare me some, you thirsty bastard.”

Chuckling, Alex handed the bottle back. Their fingers didn’t come into contact. Was it by accident, pondered Miles, or on purpose? Alex retracted his hand and indulged him with a bemused smile. “Kind of escalated earlier, wouldn’t you say?”

“Nice way of puttin’ it.”

“How’d you phrase it?”

This late? This drunk? Was he drunk? How drunk could one be after half a bottle of bubbly money? Miles shrugged. “In the greater scheme of things? Another Friday.”

Alex laughed, withdrawing the rest of his attention from the water, directing it all at Miles, instead. Held his hand out for the bottle. “Would you like me to apologize for what I said?”

Miles cackled, the noise was sudden and stark. “Yes, Alex. I really want your phony-ass apology. That will brighten my night.”

“I aim to please. Here goes: I, Alex Turner, do regret…something. Sorry.”

“Straight from the bottom of your black, rotten heart.”

“Careful there. We’re alone on this bridge, with no referee in sight. If one of us steps too far…let’s just say the wintery waters of the Seine are damned cold!”

“Afraid I’ll toss you into it?”

“Afraid I might jump myself.” He took a deep swig, then returned the bottle.

Miles finished the rest of it off. “Of all the things you could have said earlier, the insults, even the truths, why did you call me a health nut?” He’d been stuck on that all night. “And that bit about the champagne—”

“He was pissing me off, alright?” Alex resumed watching the water. “He got proprietary. He was making a show of it. And it got to me. I’m not proud of it.”

“Of gettin’ into it with him?” Miles scoffed, having none of that. “Tell that to somebody else. I saw that look on your face. You were gleefully rubbing your hands.”

“I was making a mess of it,” complained Alex, in true Turner-style. It wasn’t the deed he regretted, but the flawed execution. “He made me lose my cool! When he said you scarcely remembered me—”

“What the fuck was I supposed to say? That you’re constantly on my mind?”

“Am I?” asked Alex, his voice plunging from angry thirty-three-year-old to shy seventeen-year-old in a heartbeat. He watched him, stared, waited for a reaction.

“No,” lied Miles, not coping well under the pressure. He spun away, clinging with foolhardiness to the shreds of his pride.

Alex, it seemed, had abdicated his own a long while ago. “I think about you.” 

“You do?” Soaring back, he groaned. Clutched his head. “All this back and forth turning, it’s fucking making my head spin. ‘spose I am drunk. You think about me?” 

“You think I’d care for some fucking boring doctor puttin’ his lips on you if I didn’t?” vented Alex. Eyes flickered, fluttered, then widened. “Jesus fucking Christ, I’m drunk, too. I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Miles gave a smidgeon of a nod. He still cared? Alex still cared? After fourteen years, after getting his heart broken brutally, after becoming famous, after becoming the superstar Miles had always envisioned him to be, after being able to pick from a silver tray every person he wanted to spend time with, he still cared for _him_? How riotous this battered heart of his began to jump and thud and drum inside his suddenly very tight chest.

“We should really watch the water some more,” suggested Alex, his voice thick, and lead the way by facing back out. “Nobody else is here.”

Miles did as Alex said, contemplating if he did a good job hiding that traitorous smile on his face or if Alex had seen it. “You fear we’ll start to argue again if we don’t?”

“No.”

**#2003**

**#Alex**

“I already got the strap. Now, I got a big box of spare strings, and I got a dozen picks,” said Miles, lips wide with a giant smile. “Gettin’ closer to the _335_! Thanks, guys, thanks so much!” He gave Matt, Jamie, and Nick a collective hug. Inside their rehearsal space, a bunch of people had gathered, a giant cake sat in the corner, next to some boxes of beer and a bottle of _Jägermeister_. “No shit, this is a great birthday!”

“You haven’t even gotten my gift, yet,” said Alex once he took over the space the other three freed. He elbowed him. Grinned. “Wanna?”

A chuckle. “This look you got on your face, I’m not sure I trust it!”

“This one,” he asked innocently, looking angelic and lovely and the spitting image of Virtue playing her fellow deities for fools. His smile turned devilish and grew horns. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tipped his head toward the exit. “Come on.”

“We’re leaving?”

“Just for a sec. Wanna show you alone.” Alex had already gotten to the _Jägermeister_ and dipped his fingers into it, so to speak. But he’d needed to. Some liquid support. On his way out, he grabbed the acoustic from the corner. “There’s a park nearby. ‘bout two minutes. Let’s go there.”

“Wat’cha need the guitar for?”

“Can we just go?” He felt weird enough as it was, without explaining everything.

He smiled. “Okay.” It had gotten late and darkness had fallen. A few street lights lit the path. Miles kept smiling, and Alex, eyes on him, nearly tumbled over the first branch he’d encountered. 

“Son of a—”

“Let me.” Miles, forever kind and helpful, took the guitar from him. “You focus on walking. I can smell the schnaps on your breath.”

Alex hit his back, laughing. “Not drunk! It’s just very drunk! Dark, I mean. Damnit!” 

Giggles. “Sure!”

They walked on and after a while, a lake became visible. And a bench. “Sit there. Can’t do this standing up.”

“Do what?”

“I’m gonna do _something_ ,” warned Alex, setting the scene. “But you can’t say anything or do anything. ‘cause we’re in a dark forest by a lake at night, alone, and it’s kinda weird what I’m about to do. But I want to. So, don’t react, got it?”

“You’re making me nervous, Alex!” 

“Just…” He grabbed the guitar from him. “Be quiet and listen. Happy birthday.” Then he began to strum. For the past weeks, he’d worked hard on this song. And it wasn’t just any song. Miles had inspired it in ways Alex wasn’t all that ready to admit to. They’d fiddled with the guitars, landed on the melody, and then his friend had left for Liverpool. After that, Miles it seemed, had forgotten about the song. But Alex hadn’t. And last night, he’d finally finished it.

_“Everybody's trying to crack the jokes and that_

_To make you smile_

_Those that claim that they're not showing off_

_Are drowning in denial_

_But they're not half as bad as me_

_Say anything and I'll agree_

_'Cause when it comes to acting up_

_I'm sure I could write the book_

_And now that you're more than a part in the play_

_It's slightly easier to think what to say_

_You had us all standing on our heads_

_Doing our best tricks, yeah”_

He strummed some more, sang some more, and after a while the last note faded out and he took his time placing the guitar away since it was the one thing left to do before facing Miles and he’d not yet gathered enough courage for it. With more care than he’d ever awarded the task, he let go of the neck and held his breath, secretly hoping it woul6d topple over. Then he could lean down and put it back up again and that would mean one more moment to prepare.

“I know by now, of course, but it still blows my mind,” whispered Miles through the quietness of this gentle night, “how amazing you are.” 

Not expecting those words, Alex narrowed his eyes at Miles, who sat in a state of sedate wonder. “Me? _You_ came up with the melody. I simply added some words! This is me showing you how great you and I can be _together_. I’m not even pushing for you to stay in the band. I swear,” he lied, boldfaced and in neon letters, “I’m looking for a replacement!”

Miles’ eyes rolled a dash, like he, too, had given up expecting a replacement. Until he caught sight of the guitar again and forgot the issue. Lips surged into a wide smile. “You’re amazing, I hope you know that. I don’t know anyone who can juggle with words the way you can. It’s like you take the dull ones and make ‘em shine. The same way you shine.” Placing a hand to each side, he straightened his back and for a moment Alex feared he’d get up and leave, but he didn’t. He merely took in the lake. “Did you think about Rachel when you wrote it?”

“Who?” asked Alex, his heart elated at the compliment he’d received and his mind sidetracked by the reflection of the moonlight as it bounced from the water’s surface to Miles’ sparkling eyes. Who was Rachel?

“Your ex.”

Oh, that one. “No.”

“A new one, then.” 

The expression on Miles’ face was one Alex had never seen before. Not on anyone. It was one of devastating sadness entwined with infinite joy. Heartbreak and happiness braided together. There was no grey in it, as if the diluted emotions of the in-between were unfamiliar to him. More so, as if he’d discarded them. Considered them worthless. Lacking a meaningful impact. He was two things at once, two absolutes, and Alex didn’t understand how that could be. Or why that was the case. 

“Do I know her?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alex let him know, tearing his fixating away from him, focussing on the water instead. “What _her_?”

“The girl in the song.”

“The…” He ought to thank the night for being so dark, it struck Alex, for if it weren’t, Miles might witness him blush quite profoundly. “There’s no girl.” He’d not written it for a girl. Although, he granted, it sounded that way. Pronouns. All that. But no, there’d been no girl on his mind during the halcyon hours in which he’d come up with the lyrics.

“There’s not?” Miles’ words were dusted with doubt.

“No,” promised Alex. “It’s just…a tale…I’ve written.”

He, too, put his hands at his sides, onto the wooden plank of the bench beneath him, to push up, maybe leave. This moment was beginning to run away from him and he didn’t know how to stop it. But his intention was cut short, very abruptly, when his little finger came into direct contact with Miles’ little finger and his body quaked as if being hit by lightning. He felt the shivers everywhere but they were invisible. His body didn’t move an inch. Not even less than that. His joints were locked in place and he was scared if he moved or stirred or reacted in any noticeable style, then Miles would withdraw and the thought of that was daunting at best. His limbs became too heavy to lift. His head was unprepared for this situation he suddenly found himself in. 

_Had_ he been hit by lightning? 

Or was this a stroke? A heart attack, maybe? Was it—

Miles’ little finger curled around his little finger. 

Alex felt dizzy. Hot and cold at the same time. Black and white. Elated and terrified. 

Oh no. 

_No._

_Oh boy…_

His throat was dry as sandpaper. His lips cracking. His tongue fuzzy. 

_Shit._

So _that_ was what his mother had meant when she’d told him meeting his father had caused her entire world to topple over. He snorted on the inside, trying to recover from it. It would have been really nice if his world had asked for permission first before toppling over like a bloody hoe!

_Damnit! Now what?!_

**#2018**

It was freezing. Madly so. His fingers were blue, and ice was flowing through his veins. After half a bottle of pathetic champagne and half a dozen fingers of much stronger shit which had come before that, he had to pee – badly so – and the fucking frosty winds high above the Seine weren’t helping at all. 

But damnit, if he headed home, or even for a fucking bush, then Miles would say goodnight. There was no feasible situation or scenario that he could come up with in which they could continue to remain in each other's presence _by accident_ without _purposely_ deciding to. Alex racked his brain, ran simulations of possible outcomes, thought about—

“Gotta take a piss. And it is fucking cold. Let’s find somewhere warmer. I think my hotel is that way.”

_Interesting._

Miles’ brain worked differently than his.

Miles headed for the left, down the bridge, and toward the sprawling old building nearby. Figuring it was best for his brain to do a little less thinking this late at night, for it appeared to be useless at any rate, he simply followed. Step by step, more of the building became visible and finally, Alex recognized it. Then chuckled. “Of course you’re staying here.”

Tossing a squint over his shoulder, Miles questioned, “why would you say that?”

“The _Shangri-La Hotel_? Come on. It’s got a music reference in its name. You’d stay at a shithole if it were named _Beatles-Inn_.”

His laughter was airy and low, worn down by tiredness. “‘spose if it’s a shithole, it actually has beetles in it. Guess I’ve grown spoiled in recent years. Do like a fancy hotel. But this one?” He dropped the empty bottle of champagne into a nearby trash can. “Not my kind of fancy.”

Alex had never stayed it in before and also, he’d no idea what Miles’ idea of luxury entailed. “Too grand?”

“It’s got the whole Louis-whatever style going on.” 

“Ah. You prefer modern decor?”

“I like human decor.” He cringed. “Wait, that sounded wrong. I mean, like, well… _human_ ,” Miles lamented. “My room’s got a fucking golden couch in it. There are cushions with monograms and buttons and what-not and the fucking bed has a dust ruffle!” He spun around and walked backward on startlingly steady feet considering he was a rambling drunk. “Did you ever think about a dust ruffle, Alex? Like, _really_ think about it?”

“Nope.”

“It’s fucking nuts, that’s what it is. It’s—”

“Careful,” shouted Alex and lurched forward, grabbing him by the arm. “Will you fucking watch where you’re going? Nearly ran onto a street! Jesus,” he cursed, taking a deep breath. “Want to get killed? The last time we were seen together, you and I were fighting. What’s that gonna make me look like, huh? Like a guy with a motive. They’ll think I shoved you in front of a car!”

“If that’s your only concern, I’ll tell ‘em you didn’t.”

“You’d be dead,” Alex pointed out, with just a sprinkle of attitude. 

“Fine, I won’t tell ‘em, then. Whatever. Can you let me finish about the dust ruffle?”

“I think I just saved your life, but by all means,” he drawled. “Go right ahead.” His hand remained around Miles’ arm as he stretched to hit the button for the pedestrian light. 

“Thank you,” he bit. Blinked. And sighed heavily. “Now I forgot what I wanted to say!” 

“What a shame.”

“What is?”

Alex shook his head and laughed. “Oh, forget it.” The signal switched. The hand relaxed, slid down the arm, and Alex jerked when Miles, drunk that he was, slipped his hand into his. Unaware. Innocently. He’d bet his entire fortune that Miles had no idea that he was even doing it. Holding his hand, that was. Gently, too. So much time had passed, so much stuff had happened, and it still was the same, insane, marvelous experience it had been back then. 

_Let go_ , he told himself. Ordered himself. _Let go! It’s not right! It’s dangerous. It’s wrong! Did you forget what he’s done? He broke your heart!_ a voice snarled from the midst of his mind. 

_Maybe,_ he found himself replying, _maybe it was more complicated than that? What if…_

_What if what?_ He needed answers.

“Miles?” He decided to take advantage of his state of inebriation and try his luck. “What happened between you and Richard?” 

“He believed a lie,” said Miles, words detached from his wandering mind. His eyes, lazy and lacking precision, darted to their linked hands and the sight appeared to enthrall him. “Met him years ago. At one of the festivals. Don’t remember which one.” He squeezed his hand, applied firmness. Not the uncomfortable sort, but the reassuring, affectionate sort. “Andy was with him. When they saw me, they came over. Andy introduced me. I was nice, despite all the shit he’d said about me. But then he told Richard that I was a cockroach. That I had crawled my way into your bed just so that I could join the band. That I was the reason he was no longer with you.” A veil of sadness slid over his face as he raised his head, eyes bursting with insistence. “‘tisn’t true, Alex. I swear! Never wanted to be in the band. I only ever wanted you. Nothing else.” 

Alex’s vision turned blurry and he felt sick, the sheer sum of revelations a rock that had fallen down upon him from high in the sky. Trying to deal with one admission at a time, he started with the most crushing one. “Andy did what?”

Miles raised their hands, interlocked as they were, and gave a loopy smile. “It still makes my fingers tingle like we’re back on the bench by the lake when we held hands for the first time. You remember that?” 

As if he could ever forget. His tingled, too. He swallowed hard. “Miles…”

“My heart was beating so fast. Was scared that you might hear it.” His free hand Miles brought to his chest, where it tapped to a reckless beat. “Can you hear it now? Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.”

“MILES!” shouted Daniel from the distance. 

Alex let go at once. As if his heart had been torn from his chest, he stumbled backward, fighting the shudder that wanted to rake across his body. “Night,” he tossed, then ran away. 

He’d always known he wasn’t over him. 

But that he wasn’t over him _this_ _much_?

_Fuck!_

**#Miles**

“I just got lucky,” announced Daniel. “Technically, you and I got lucky. Matt called. He wanted to apologize for last night. Which, I think, was a very admirable thing to do. He admitted that he rightfully believed he did his part in causing the evening to derail by taunting Alex. To make up for it, he asked if we wanted to join the group on their private plane back to London later today. Which is quite fortunate,” he added, “considering I have to be back in the hospital tonight. That patient I told you about – the surgery got pushed and I got to prepare for it. Miles! Are you even listening? It’s almost afternoon, don’t you think it’s time for you to leave the bed? I mean, we came all the way here to spend time together and all we did was see an _Arctical Monkeys_ gig.”

“ _Arctic_ ,” grumbled Miles into the pillow. “Name’s _Arctic Monkeys_.” Not just the band’s name was that, his mood also. Last night was a giant ball of blur. He remembered, of course, that the evening had gone abysmally. But to his friend’s defense, it had very little to do with Matt, a whole fucking lot with Alex, and _possibly_ even a bit with himself – although he didn’t think it necessary to advertise that. He remembered getting back to the hotel with Daniel, he remembered leaving without him, and he remembered running into Alex. It was only after that that things began to turn murky inside his head. And he hadn’t even drunk that much! 

Maybe Alex had and he’d gotten a contact high? Not _entirely_ impossible! 

But no, he had to concede to himself. 

Murky as things may be in his head, the shapes were still distinguishable. He recalled the bridge, the words, that unfortunate admission about Andy. And, naturally, the single most stupid thing of his adult life – holding Alex’s hand! He supposed he should count himself lucky. Sober Alex might have punched him for that! 

Daniel’s words registered. “Wait…what?”

His boyfriend sighed dramatically. “Apparently they got a private jet for the flight home. We’re on it. Flight leaves in a few hours.”

He dug his face back into his pillow. Two whole hours with Alex in a flying tuna can without parachutes? “Wanna stay here.”

“Sorry. Already canceled the rest of our reservation. Besides, didn’t you initially plan on returning today? Get out of bed, sweetheart. Time to pack. I’ll help you. Not like you actually _unpacked_. A bit of distraction will do you well. Can’t believe you drank the entire bottle of Champagne last night. And where did you wander off to? I was looking for you?”

“River,” he mumbled. 

“Ah. Oh, how I wish I’d been there with you. Could have waited for me with your walk. I’d have joined you!”

“Maybe next time. OW!” Something large and heavy landed on his calf. 

“Sorry. Suitcase. But a fantastic idea! We should return soon. Maybe by in a few weeks? When you played your last gig? You said you wanted to get back into the studio as soon as possible, but surely you got a few spare days for an extended trip here? It’s not like you actually booked any studio yet. I could take off, too. And who knows, maybe we’ll have something to celebrate by then?”

Celebrate? Oh, right. His birthday was coming up. But that was in March, not February. He brushed it off, not caring at any rate. “Whatever. Sure.” The rustling and the movements continued. His nerves stretched. 

Daniel groaned. “Miles, that’s an _Armani_ shirt you got in here. It’s completely wrinkled!” 

“So?” He tugged the pillow free and pulled it over his head. “Not gonna wear it on the fucking plane.” And even if he were to, there wasn’t a Monkey in the world who cared about some fucking wrinkles! 

“You’re chirpy today.”

Teeth ground. “Headache.” 

“Try drinking less.”

“Or more…” He closed his eyes and fell back asleep. Stubbornly so.

.

.

** Spoiler Chapter 10: **

Alex bit his tongue. “Last night is best to be forgotten.”

“Fully agree,” nodded Daniel. And effectively dismissed him. “Nice of you to come here and say so. Feel free to return to the back, though. Wouldn’t want to keep you from anything that—”

“Oh,” shot Alex, plopping down into one of the free seats across the two of them. “Daniel. Danny. Can I say Danny? We’re friends, aren’t we? You’re not keepin’ me from anything!” He’d been dead set on falling asleep two minutes ago, but now? He stretched his neck and powered the smart parts of his brain back up. “We got an entire flight to get to know each other, don’t we?”

#

Matt’s response was bored bemusement. “You’re unbelievable, know that?”

“Why? ‘cause I’m concerned for the virtue of this pretty _Gulfstream_?”

“’cause Daniel emerged two minutes ago. He’s in the back, by Jamie, but you’re so bloody focused on Miles that—” Matt sighed. “You’re not paying attention to a word I’m saying, are you?”

Alex was already on his feet. Miles was alone in the kitchenette, then? “Need a drink? Want some water?”

“Sure,” grinned Matt. “I’ll give you an excuse to go in there. I’ll have a water. By all means, don’t rush!”

#


	10. Bond

**#2018**

**#Alex**

He was trailing after Matt, climbing the steep stairs to the sleek private jet that the label had sprung for to ensure a quick and smooth return home at the end of a very profitable tour. Guitar case in hand, bag over his shoulder, Alex bit his tongue from rushing Matt, knowing it’d only have the opposite effect. But he really wanted to get inside. The winds were fucking icy, he was freezing, tired as hell, and in desperate need of a hot tea.

Damned headache.

Last night had left him reeling. It had been the most unexpecting roller-coaster ride he’d ever taken at this emotional fairground he currently felt trapped in. After years of steady but contained activities, something most disconcerting was taking place.

 _Change_.

And he’d yet to make up his mind about that! Was it welcome or not?

“Ha, there they are!” Matt came to a standstill at the sight of an arriving car.

Alex cursed silently, forced into a full-stop. “Who is?”

“Miles and Daniel.”

He scratched the silent-part of the cursing. “Damn it to hell, Helders, what have you done?” Eyes shot daggers up the steps, mentally choking his drummer into ‘fessing up to his crime. “What the fuck?”

“Invited ‘em. For the flight back.” Matt's guiltless smile scratched Alex’s delicate nerves like the claws of a cat would tear through skin. Instead of blood, however, they drew hot ire.

“And why for the love of all that makes music would you do such a fucking stupid thing?”

“’cause last night was fucked up!” lectured Matt. “In large parts thanks to you,” he stressed, showing no remorse in assigning blame.

Alex scoffed, feeling wrongly put on trial. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“Miles is our friend. And last night you went for the jugular!”

“Fucking,” shot Jamie from behind Alex, inserting himself into a conversation Alex wished would either take place inside or better yet not take place at all. “Explained it to you, Helders. It was foreplay. They were two seconds away from fucking. In front of our eyes if I may add. It’s not something I want to see!”

“Why?” The cold and the arrival of unanticipated guests made Alex foul-tempered. “Afraid you’ll learn something?”

“Oh, fuck you, Alex!”

From below Jamie, a shivering voice barked, “Can we have this fucking chat inside the _heated_ plane?” Nick’s glare, blistering as it was, iced over on the tarmac. “Fucking get moving!”

Four Monkeys climbed the remaining steps and reached the cozy inside of the _Gulfstream_ where everyone aimed for their desired spots whilst being greeted by two flight attendants. Alex had headed straight for the large leather couch by the back windows, a spot he began to sprawl out in, stretching wide, claiming all three seats for himself. One for him, two for his guitar. It had to travel comfortably. Across from him, Jamie lounged, taking over the second couch.

“Taking a nap,” the latter announced as soon as the flight attendant had taken his order for a wakeup-coffee in about an hour’s time. “Wake me if things get interesting.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” assured Alex, a smirk dancing over his face. Now that he was warm and comfortably seated, now that his feet were no longer collecting frostbite, and now that the stewardess had offered to make him a nice cup of peppermint tea with extra sugar, Alex’s aggravation exited the plane. He was at peace with the bloody inevitable. What was he supposed to do? Kick ‘em off the jet? Tempting the thought may be, he _could_ find it in him to be civil. “They can sit in the front. By Matt. Have him appreciate the vibrant company of _Doc Bland_ and his rambles ‘bout healthy living.”

The two in question made it through the door. Miles first. Glorious Miles in his washed-out tight jeans whose seam ran up the outer sides of his lean legs and teased a path towards his waist, his hips, his sensitive areas. That dark coat with the stiff collar gave him an air of authority, of unbending will, accentuated by his strong shoulders that hid beneath. He wore it well, yet he wore it effortlessly. He didn’t need the coat to look imposing. It sure helped, though.

It was pathetic. Alex. Not the coat. One could think he hadn’t had a good fuck in years by the might with which his lust crushed all his better instincts. As though Miles’ cock was the only one worth rolling over for. Not that Alex could say. Sure, yes, they did have sex all those years back.

But that had been teenager sex. Innocent. Tame. Ever since Miles had swaggered back into Alex’s life with his aura of his smugness, his grown-up behavior, even his willingness to explain and express his regrets, Alex had been asking himself what it would be like to take him out for a wild ride. One for the old days. One for the memories. One for an orgasm…

It’d melt his bones. No doubt.

Miles greeted Nick and Matt, who’d hurried over to welcome him and his appendix. Alex watched, leered, as one hand reached up to pop the coat-buttons open, one by one without looking. Clever fingers knew where to search, and they hit their target each time. His thumb would push against one side, the index finger against the other, he’d give it a small twist, and then, plop, open the coat was.

“You’re drooling,” said Jamie.

He wiped his mouth. Cursed. And failed appallingly in ignoring Jamie’s crisp snicker. “Fucking dick,” fumed Alex, mortified at his public display of beguilement.

That feeling went away in a hurry when Daniel stepped into view.

Alex rolled his eyes. Only to stop mid-move when Daniel fully strode into the plane. He shot to the edge of his seat, his jaw hitting the floor. “Are those…?” He leaned forward, toward Jamie with wide gaping eyes, not believing what was directly in his line of sight. “Is he wearing _Ugg_ boots?”

“No shit!” Jamie coughed to cover up his chuckle. “Nice coat, though. Got the same.”

“Yeah, but you worked for it. Miles probably paid for his!”

Eyes went from entertained to disapproving in the nick of time. “He’s a surgeon,” admonished the guitarist, his sudden defense sounding disingenuous at best. “Don’t you think he makes his own money? What’s it to you, anyway? You hate Miles, or did you forget? Haven’t you been telling us that for the past fourteen years? That Miles broke your heart, that he can’t be trusted? That he only used you, that—”

“Miles _never_ used me or us.” The assertion thundered from his mouth with such a strength that even Alex was taken aback by it.

“Your words,” defended Jamie, hands raised in surrender.

Lowering his voice, he focused on the carpet, avowing, “Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong.” He’d never truly meant it to begin with. “I _was_ wrong!” He’d been so damn angry at Miles for running away that he’d allowed his ire to get the better of him. Over the years, he’d accused Miles of being selfish, of using the band as his training ground, of using Alex for his personal amusement. Some vile shit. But it had been nothing but injured pride. An insult that lacked foundation. A bad thing one said out of spite! There wasn’t a morsel of truth to it!

Last night, when Miles’ defenses had been watered down by the blandness of champagne, when he’d confessed to Alex what horrible lies Andy had spread, it had dawned on him that Miles was, if not fully, at least partially convinced that some of it was true. He’d caught it in the way Miles had tried to convince himself otherwise. And after that, frame by frame, the past began to disfigure, as did his view of it. It was all different, now. No longer black and white. That intricate painting he’d made of Miles, which portrayed him as a monster and a prick who’d turned his back on his friends and on his love to make it big on his own no longer matched the sight that reality displayed.

Slowly, Alex experienced doubt.

And with doubt came guilt. And disillusionment. All those questions that he’d once had? What had made him stop looking for answers? What if he should have changed the questions instead? Looked for a different set of answers to a new list of questions? What if he’d never needed to look, what if everything had been there in front of his eyes? What if he’d just been too blind or too dumb to see?

“Alex,” called out Matt, appearing next to him, ambushing him as he was about to dive deep into his thoughts. “Daniel and Miles have arrived.” The warning in his tone was two inches thick. “I told ‘em you wanted a word. You know, to _apologize_!”

Funny, he didn’t recall any such plans. “Nope.”

“Get your ass up and do it,” hissed Matt.

Grunting, Alex did.

Jamie, watching with a grin, laid back on the couch.

 _Traitor_!

“Daniel,” Alex set out, hands balled into fists behind his back. “I wanted to express my regrets.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep a hold of the grave look on his face. If he didn’t, he might burst into laughter at the sight of his fucking ridiculous shoes. “I don’t know what happened last night. I made a remark that I could have…” How to say this right? “That I could have formulated differently. A _few_ remarks,” he corrected when he felt the sharp edge of Matt’s elbow collide with his ribs. “I admit the conversation headed into a direction that was most… _unfortunate_.”

Daniel’s nod was curt. “Appreciate it.” His tone was detached. Pertinacious. Arrogant. “I’m sure we’ll never see each other again after today, considering we’ve managed to avoid each other ‘til very recently. And, uh, thanks for the lift home, I guess.”

He _guessed_? Eyes pinched together. _Oh, you little fucker! Here’s some guessing for you!_ “We might run into each other quite frequently now that Miles and I are well on our way to restoring our friendship. Last night, he and I—” The words died on the cusp of his lips. Miles, sitting next to Daniel, raised his gaze and met his for the first time since last night’s walk in the dark. A plea stretched in it. A beg to remain quiet. Alex swallowed his off-color allusion and forced out a resigned smile. “Last night is best to be forgotten.”

“Fully agree,” nodded Daniel. And effectively dismissed him. “Nice of you to come here and say so. Feel free to return to the back, though. Wouldn’t want to keep you from anything that—”

“Oh,” shot Alex, plopping down into one of the free seats across the two of ‘em. “Daniel. _Danny_. Can I say Danny? We’re friends, aren’t we? You’re not keepin’ me from anything!” He’d been dead set on falling asleep two minutes ago, but now? He stretched his neck and powered the smart parts of his brain back up. “We got an entire flight to get to know each other, don’t we?”

“We do?” dreaded Miles. The prospect seemed to disturb him.

Matt as well. He sat down next to Alex. “Maybe I should stay. Just in case.”

“In case of what?” Alex’s expression was warm and sunny and fake as it could be. “Danny and I are trying out fresh.”

“Daniel,” corrected Daniel, gruff.

“Sorry,” Alex said. “Thought it was your nickname.”

“Don’t have one.”

“You don’t?” He feigned surprise. “Stuns me to here. Miles loves nicknames. Had a whole bunch of ‘em for me back in the day. Everything, from nice to naughty.”

Miles, across, buried his face inside his hand, shook his head, and groaned.

Ignoring that, and Matt’s harsh warning of “bloody quit!” as well, Alex got cozied into his seat, crossed one leg over the other, and beamed. “So, Danny. _Daniel_. My bad! ‘pologies! Tell me about you. How did you and little ol’ _Milesy_ meet? Was it at the hospital? Did _Milly_ get into an accident, maybe?”

“Alex,” cautioned Miles.

Daniel shook his head. “’tis fine, sweetheart.”

 _Sweetheart_.

Alex choked back a snort. Miles was a _baby_ , the kind one pronounced with a drawn-out ‘eh’ at the end. The kind that caused you to open your mouth when you said it, to bare your lips in their entirety, to allow your across to glimpse at your tongue as it rested in its place, tempted, waiting for an invite. He was a _darlin_ ’, the sort that finished with a sultry ‘n’, the sort that required you to curl your tongue to get it right. Getting it right always required a curl of a tongue. Or two. He was a _stud_ on days one empathized physical attractions. Or a _sexy fucker_. A majestic _tiger_ that didn’t know its strength. Maybe he did. Or just a _rawrrr_ when using entire words became superfluous. He caught Miles’ threatening glare and volleyed back a dash of a sly wink. If roles were reversed and he were the boyfriend, Alex would simply call him _his_ and follow up with a kiss.

Daniel continued, but not before touching Miles’ hand, which twitched with treacherous hesitation at the contact. “Miles and I met at a party his label threw. I saved the life of one of the execs and got invited because of that.”

“Wow. You did? Impressive!” Or not. He was a doc. Wasn’t it his bloody job to save lives? “And you decided to check out how the other side of the world lives?”

“The one with money?” Daniel scowled. “I’m not in it for the money.”

“Not money. The music industry. The rotten bunch. Us drinking, smokin’, cursing, fucking,—”

“Aleeeex,” seethed Matt under his breath.

“He’s an amazing doctor,” Miles pointed out, demonstratively patting his boyfriend’s hand to underline his sentiment. “Very smart.”

“Aren’t most doctors?” posed Alex. “I’d hate to be stuck with one who isn’t.”

“He went to Oxford,” Miles added.

Alex shrugged at his ex-boyfriend-turned-proud mom. “So did I.”

“To study?” coughed Daniel.

“To play,” replied Matt. “We had a gig there.”

“Drew a very large crowd. Your kind knows how to party.”

Daniel pressed further. “My _kind_?”

“You know,” brushed Alex off. “The smart, book-loving kind.”

“Us _intellectuals_ , you mean.”

“The _Dom Perignon_ of the human race.”

Matt seemed confused, Daniel lost, and Miles? Sneaky Miles tried to hide a snicker. Alex did no such thing. He chuckled. Loudly. “Inside joke. Forget ‘bout it,” he told the other two.

“You share inside jokes?” Daniel’s inquiring eyes sought out Miles and not so silently demanded an explanation. “Even now?”

Sparing Miles, who clearly struggled to find words, the need to answer that, Alex volunteered. “Now, as in years removed from when we were the best of friends? More so, when we were paramours, spending entire nights awake in bed, doing little else but talking and making love?”

Miles let go of Daniel, flaring a frosty “enough” his way.

Alex continued, undeterred. “Some things don’t change. Tell me more about the night you met. Did you walk up to him or—”

“He walked up to me.” Daniel’s chance to tell his tale brightened his mood decidedly and what had been lines of annoyance on his face were now ones of fond recollection. “Asked me what a nice guy like me was doing at a place like that.”

“Did he?” From the corner of his eyes and with one eyebrow curved intrigued, Alex surveyed Miles who made quite a show of not reacting in any shape or form.

Daniel, wearing a winning smile, ran his hand down the length of Miles’ arm with affection. “Had me hooked right then and there.”

“You and Helga.”

The hand dropped. “Helga?”

Matt elbowed him again. “Ignore him. There’s no Helga.”

“Just James,” kidded Alex and tuned out the rest of Daniel’s romantic tale, which he delivered with far too much enthusiasm and the most unnecessary details anyway.

**#April 2003**

He’d brushed it off as a single, isolated moment of complete and utter… _something_. The night of Miles’ birthday, after what had felt like a lifetime of holding his hand, or more accurately his little finger, Alex, overcome by the coldness of a chilly night in March and an irrepressible urge to return to crowded places lest he wanted to do something even more stupid and entwine the rest of their fingers as well, had gotten up, taken the guitar, and suggested to return to the garage for a proper party.

Miles had nodded vigorously. A few drinks, the last of the Jägermeister, a life-threatening headache, and some very loud words from his mother later, he’d shown up in school the next day and resumed being the proper friend that he was, albeit slightly hungover. Between him and Miles, the words ‘hands’ and ‘lake’ had never seen the light of day.

They were friends.

The best of friends.

None more.

Certainly not less.

“You can stop pretending,” Miles told him one morning in April, after math, whilst grabbing his bag. Eyes darted at Alex, who held a notebook in one hand and a paper torn from it inside his other. His words were lacking energy as if speaking them bored the shit out of him. “That phony ‘list’ you got there, with names? Guitar players?”

Alex looked at the list in question but refused to admit to being caught. “They are real people. And they play guitar.”

“And every once in a while, you write the names down and act like you’re gonna call ‘em up and offer ‘em the spot. But you don’t really do it, or if they come to you, you tell ‘em what a horrible front man you are, always demanding rehearsals, never allowing for fun, scaring ‘em away before they even do their first try-out. Just quit it, Alex.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to find anyone. But you and I are such a fucking good team inside the band! Miles, I swear, the second you tell me you want to leave to play solo, I will let you go. Until you do, can you just make peace with being the best partner I ever had?”

“Already did,” conceded Miles. He adjusted his bag.

Alex's eyes widened. “You have?”

A small, suppressed smile broke free in bits. Eyes rolled. “Yes. Can’t watch this shit anymore.” He snagged the list from him and crumpled it up; tossed it over his shoulder. “Consider me your official guitarist. Search over.”

“Finally,” exclaimed Alex and aimed a gigawatt smile his way. “I wore you out, eh?”

“That’s exactly what happened!”

“Did you throw that?” Alex and Miles turned around, where their classmate Angela held up the ball of paper. “Were you aiming at me?”

Miles grinned. “At somebody this pretty? Never. My deepest apologies, Angie.”

She de-crumpled the page. Read it.

Alex tore it from her hand. “That’s private information.”

“It’s a list of names.” She snatched it back. “And it’s no longer private. You tossed it. All of ‘em, they play guitar. There are only guys on this list. What about me?”

“You play?” asked Miles.

“Doesn’t matter,” shot Alex. “Trash it. Frame it. Don’t care. Let’s go,” he told Miles.

“Wait,” protested Miles, attention on the female classmate. “Seriously, you play? Never saw you with a guitar.”

“No reason to bring it to school.”

“Well, then, how are we supposed to know you play?”

“You never talked to me. I’d have told you if you had.”

“We’re talking now.”

“And wasting precious time,” interjected Alex, once again giving Miles’ side a firm bump. “We got French! Want to piss off Chiraq again?”

Miles winced. “Shit, no. Gotta go! Eh, see you later?”

“Miles!”

“Yes, alright!”

“Later,” called Angie.

“What’s with you? That was bloody rude,” complained Miles, hurrying with Alex down the hallway. “We were just talking!”

“About playing guitar,” added Alex. He saw Chiraq coming up from the other side of the hallway. “Run!” They did. Made it to class just in time. Dropping into his seat, breathing harder than usual, Alex looked at Miles loosening his tie. “You just told me that you’re officially one of us. What’s it matter that she plays?”

“Are you scared I will change my mind?”

Maybe. Maybe he was that. After all, it had taken four fucking months to get Miles to become a card-carrying member of that little group of theirs. Or maybe he didn’t like that he’d called Angela ‘pretty’. Same way Miles had extended compliments to nearly every single girl he’d run into since the night of his birthday. He’d gone out on five dates with five different birds, and it would have been more if not for the logistical difficulties of combining school and social life and, naturally, Easter break. Nick was in awe of him, Matt and Jamie whistled each time Miles mentioned a female of any kind, and the other guys in their greater social circle had begun snickering behind his back, probably because they were jealous.

Miles slapped his thigh to get him to say something.

Alex remained stubbornly mute.

“Not gonna change my mind,” professed Miles. “Told ya. I’m yours, now.”

Eyes lifted a fragment. “Yeah?”

“Swear.” He smiled. The big one. Where his eyes turned crinkly at the sides and his lips stretched far. “Hey, do you know if Angie’s got a boyfriend?”

Alex reached for his French book as his eyes rolled. “Who cares!”

Alex was halfway up the stairs, the big box of pizza clasped securely in his hands when the doorbell rang again. Had the delivery guy forgotten anything? He sprinted back down, careful not to lose hold of that delicious smelling dinner, only to almost drop it at the sight of who’d rung. “Miles?” It was Friday night, late, and he’d not expected him. Far from it. “Shouldn’t you be out on a date?”

“I was.” At this point of their friendship, he no longer waited for an invite. He got in, dropped his jacket by the floor of the stairs, and stole the box from his grip. Popped the lid open. Scrunched his nose. “Fuck, Alex. Olives?” Eyes darkened. “I hate olives, you know that.”

Eh, yes? And if he’d known he’d come by, he’d have told the pizza place to keep the olives tightly placed on one side. But, again, “you’re supposed to be on a date. With guitar-Angie. Not here, eating _my_ dinner.”

“Date sucked.” He headed up the stairs.

Alex followed him. More accurately, he followed the pizza. He was very hungry.

Miles sat down on the floor by the bed, turned on the tv, and began the journey through the channels. Food in his lap, one hand plucked the olives off and dropped ‘em on the right side. Coincidentally on his right side as well sat down Alex.

“Want to tell me?” he asked, making no secret that he couldn’t possibly care less and preferred not to be told. But he was a friend, and the rules of friendship demanded a courtesy ask.

Shoulders twitched. “Went well, actually. Talked about music, all that.”

“And?” Alex took a slice of his large Salami with pepper, olives, and extra cheese and made a half-assed attempt of cheering him up. “Sounds good, does it not?”

“’spose.”

He let out a whine. “Either tell me or not!”

“Not,” mumbled Miles. He landed on an old movie. A scene of a rocket about to eat another rocket filled the screen. “James Bond. Wanna watch?”

“Sure.”

Slice by slice they vanished, first the rocket and then the pizza. Every once in a while, Miles would miss an olive, eat it by accident, and curse vilely afterward, much more than necessary. Alex found it greatly amusing how committed he was not only to hating the small things but also to demonstrating it.

“I think Angie looks vaguely similar to Helga.” He nodded his chin toward the woman on tv. “You keep dating her, you know what she’ll look like one day. There are worse choices to make.” The last slice remained. Alex went for it.

As did Miles.

Hands met by chance.

Alex snapped his head there, ready to take up the fight for the last of the cheese and the yummy crust it came with. Miles surrendered before it even got to that, pulling his hand away so fast Alex only saw a blur of colors.

He sighed forcefully. Tore the crust off the slice, which he dropped back into the carton. After that, he gave the box a dab to make it land more fully in Miles’ hold. “Take it. And fucking tell me what’s wrong with you!” It had been going on for bloody weeks, now!

Each and every time they touched, no matter how innocently, Miles pulled away as quickly as he could. When he rode on the back of Alex’s moped, he barely held on even though his own well-being depended on it. During rehearsals, when Alex would suggest chord alterations, which he’d done a hundred times before usually by showing and demonstrating hands-on how he wanted Miles to play something, Miles would jump away and bite something terse his way. And now this?

“I’m tempted to hug you just to find out if you’ll toss me out the window for that!”

Miles tossed a confused look at him. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning ever since the fucking moment at the lake, something’s off with you. I thought it was all in my head. I thought I was imagining shit. But it’s you, not me.” Alex finished the crust, rubbed the grease from his fingers, and got up to open the window. With his parents gone, there was no need to smoke outside the house. He pulled the pack of cigarettes from the hiding spot inside his drawer and lit himself one. Eyes refused to meet Miles’ and he stared out the window instead. “If you didn’t like it—” ‘Like’ was the wrong term. He began anew. “If I freaked you out—”

“You?” Miles jumped to his feed. “What did _you_ do?”

“Held your hand? Your little finger,” he corrected, as if to make it sound less bad. One out of five digits meant carrying only one-fifth of the guilt, or not? If only that were his biggest concern. “I’m sorry, alright? I don’t know what happened. Maybe it was the darkness, or the lake, or fucking whatever. I wish you’d have told me to shove it or just pulled away. I didn’t mean for it to happen!”

“Did you hit your head or something?”

Not that he knew of. Alex patted his head. “Why, have I got a bump somewhere?”

“A big, bloated bump of stupid,” said Miles, walked up, and pried the cigarette from his fingers to take a drag. “I am the one who held your hand. Your little finger,” he specified, clearly hoping for the same math to apply to his guilt. “I messed up! Not you! You should have decked me for it!”

‘cause he held his hand? His finger, damnit! “Why would I want to?”

“’cause of the fucking finger!” burst Miles. “We’re not supposed to do that! I crossed a line.”

“It’s a bloody finger,” Alex snapped back. It bothered him that Miles had thought about perceptions. About right and wrong and all that bullshit. “Who says what we’re supposed to do or not?”

“Friends don’t hold hands. Fingers. Fuck!”

Alex reclaimed his cigarette. “Who decides that?” He dragged. “We do. Our choice. It bloody doesn’t matter.” His friend wasn’t okay with it and at the end that was the only thing that did count. “It shouldn’t have happened, you’re right. Sorry.”

“Quit apologizing,” Miles ordered angrily. He leaned with his butt against the other side of the desk’s edge. “I have to do that!”

“You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Neither did you!”

“Then why are we fighting?” asked Alex, voice louder than necessary. He inhaled one last time, then tossed the butt out the window. He addressed Miles again, his tone much softer now. “If you’re okay with it and I’m okay with it, what’s not okay?”

Miles gave a helpless shrug. “Don’t know. Thought I’d…freaked you. Didn’t want you to think that I’m…”

His breath hitched inside Alex’s throat as the unspoken words hung at a dangerous height above them. “That you’re what?” How coarse he sounded all of sudden. How affected.

Miles did, too. His voice was but a quiet whisper. “You know what.”

Yeah. Alex did. Only, what if the thought of it wasn’t off-putting? “Is that why you went on all those dates? To prove that—”

Averting his eyes, Miles nodded. “Maybe. Or…maybe I wanted to go on ‘em,” he considered out loud. “We should go on dates, shouldn’t we? But when I do, all I think about is…”

Alex didn’t dare to ask what was burning on the tip of his tongue. If either of them spoke it out loud then who knew what would happen. He wasn’t sure he was ready to hear what now none more than a vague assumption was. One he could entertain when he was in the right headspace; one he could tune out when he was not. And even if he happened to be in the right headspace a lot these days, it was unmistakable that Miles was as far from that as possible.

Back on tv, James Bond was chatting up to Helga, dropping line after line. “Want to watch it some more?”

Miles inclined his head and gave a single nod of appreciation. He resumed his spot on the floor in front of the bed. Alex slipped back, too, sitting down next to him.

“To think that somebody falls for those cheesy lines,” spoke Alex in a weak attempt to change the topic.

“Right?” A chuckle escaped Miles; the first one Alex heard from him in a long time. The first genuine, carefree one. Despite the cloud of lingering awkwardness still weighing down the mood. “Would you ever?”

“Use one or fall for one?”

“Both.”

“Use? Nah. Seems dumb to me. You meet somebody and you can’t be bothered to be original? Isn’t that like watching a bad movie twice? Like you already know it’s gonna bore you but it’s available and you lack the energy to make up your mind ‘bout what you really want. And fall for one? God, I hope not!”

“You’d never fall for a line,” stated Miles, no doubt in his tone. “You’re too smart for that. You know all of ‘em. And the ones you don’t, you’d still recognize.”

“What would I fall for?” he asked, curious. “If you think you know me so well, tell me.”

“Honesty.”

Alex forgot about the movie. He watched Miles instead. “A true compliment?”

“The brutal sort of honesty.” Miles shrugged, which grew into an airy little laugh. “Ignore me, I’m tired. Haven’t slept well in a while.”

He didn’t want to ignore him. Quite the contrary. Shifting, leaning against the mattress, he shook his head. “Tell me more. What’s brutal ‘bout honesty? Isn’t truth kind?”

“Only if you want to hear it. There’s comfort in lying. Even if one lies to one’s self.” He spoke softly and the words were parted by a light yawn that repeated itself at the end of his sentence. Clearly, he was tired. He looked the part. Dark spots beneath his eyes. Sagged shoulders. A smile that never fully bloomed to life.

“And you think I’ll fall for something I don’t want to hear?”

“You’re the kindest person I know.”

Alex wanted to laugh. Of all the people Miles considered his friends, he believed Alex was the kindest? Alex hardly considered himself a dick, but he knew he had his shortcomings when it came to niceties. “You should know better,” he joked.

Not laughing, Miles moved his head from side to side. “You’re always hard on yourself. It’s like you don’t see what I see. You don’t ever make fun of somebody. Sometimes, we snicker ‘bout people, but never in a way that’s rude. Nothing you say you wouldn’t repeat to somebody’s face. You act like you’re only friendly in exchange for favors, like with the guy who excels at math and helps you with your homework. But I know you helped him write a poem for Sandra and then you went to her and told her to give him a fair shot and say ‘yes’ to a date with him. You went grocery shopping for your neighbor when he broke his foot last month. And the little kid who scratched your moped when he fell into it with his bike? I know you didn’t lose your helmet. You gave it to him so he could wear it and cry into it so that his friends wouldn’t see. I know ‘cause I saw it.”

“You never mentioned any of that.” Alex had been convinced nobody had noticed. Besides, those weren’t kind acts. Just decent behavior. He glanced at the floor, feeling uncomfortable. “None of that explains why you think I’d fall for brutal honesty.”

“You’re the only person I know who invites judgment upon himself. And no matter how harsh it is, you still say ‘thank you’. You think you’re half of what you really are and you’re gonna fall for the girl that agrees with you on that. But it’s not true, even if you think otherwise. You’re a wonderful person, Alex. I hope you know that.” Another yawn escaped him. “Oh, I love that scene. And the music playing in the background. James Bond always has great scores.” He returned his sight to the television. Bit by bit his lids fluttered shut and before he knew it, Miles was sinking back against the mattress with a soft snore and a lingering expression of contentment. Inch after inch his head drooped to the side and after a minute or two it fell into the curve of Alex’s tensing shoulder into which it fitted with perfection.

Fingers clutched the fabric of his own jeans, afraid if he let go of that, he’d raise an arm and curl it around him, pulling Miles closer. And that was not an option.

Alex made do with staring, then. With watching his chest as it rose and fell. With observing his chin and its tiny tics. With gazing at his closed eyes and the dreams that hid beneath. “I’m afraid I’ve already fallen,” whispered Alex, brushed his lips against Miles’ temple and smiled. He settled in. “Sleep tight.”

**#2018**

The stewardess arrived just in time to put an end to Daniel’s never-ending rambles of their first date. By now, the plane had reached its desired altitude and because of that, the seatbelt sign shut off and his tea arrived. He grabbed the cup from the flight attendant’s tray, ignored her warning that it was hot, and clasped it for dear life despite the fact that the off-white piece of china was scalding his palms. And his tongue when he took a sip.

“Careful, you’ll hurt yourself,” cautioned Miles, cutting into Daniel’s attempt at restarting the tale of their romance.

‘Do you even notice,’ wondered Alex silently, ‘that you’re interrupting your boyfriend? That he’s upset about it?’ Alex doubted it. Miles wasn’t paying attention to Daniel. Not much, at any rate. Instead, his eyes were on him. Covertly, so. Sometimes, it was a sneaked glimpse from the corner. A peek between fingers while rubbing his face. A glance from below lowered lids. Alex caught each one.

Whenever he’d quip or taunt Daniel, Miles and Matt would utter a warning. Toss a quiet reprimand. Something like that. From Matt, he overlooked it. From Miles, he welcomed it. It was one more piece of evidence that Miles’ mind was on him and not on Daniel. Because of it, Alex wasn’t too proud to admit that to himself that, he’d gone a wee bit far in teasing the too-polite doctor.

He drank another sip. Winced.

“Told ya,” Miles flung back.

“A pattern emerges,” mumbled Daniel.

Alex, refusing to acknowledge that his tongue hurt like shit or that his fingers were burnt because he’d forgotten that the tea was hot due to his irritating fascination with Miles’ brown eyes which, fourteen years later, he still couldn’t describe adequately, raised his eyebrows at his across. “What pattern?”

Daniel met his eyes. “Oh, uh, nothing,” he dismissed, smiling briefly as he waved a hand.

“Do elaborate,” Alex challenged. He held his gaze.

The doc’s ears lit crimson. “Monkeys,” he began after a terse few seconds of trying and failing to win a silent stare-off against Alex who’d played against reporters and won. A much tougher crowd. “Monkeys, eh, they do something and when it hurts, they stop. You—”

“Don’t,” Alex finished for him. “Are you calling my status as a monkey into question?” If he’d meant it as a joke, it wasn’t funny. As for the other part? Who’d claimed that the tea was hot? It was perfect in temperature. Alex brought the cup back to his mouth. This time, it was deliberate.

Miles bolted to his feet and grabbed Daniel’s arm. “Mind joining me in the back for a second? _Now_.”

“Eh, sure.” Daniel got up.

Alex, on the edge of his seat with interest, forgot about the tea. Especially after Miles shook his head at him, looking beyond annoyed.

Five minutes later, they still hadn’t returned. “What the hell are they doing back there?” Alex strained his neck, trying to figure it out. One hand against the back of the seat, he twisted his neck, squinted. _Damned curtain!_ “Think they’re fooling ‘round or some like that?” God, he hoped not! It was a plane, for fuck’s sake. A leased, private jet. Not some den of sin for doctors to live out their lackluster fantasies!

Matt’s response was a bemused, “You’re unbelievable, know that?”

“Why? ‘cause I’m concerned for the virtue of this pretty _Gulfstream_?”

“’cause Daniel emerged two minutes ago and settled on the couch in the back, by Jamie, but you’re so bloody focused on Miles that—” Matt sighed. “You’re not paying attention to a word I’m saying, are you?”

Alex sprung to his feet. Miles was alone in the kitchenette? “Need a drink? Want some water?”

“Sure,” grinned Matt. “I’ll give you an excuse to go in there. I’ll have a water. By all means, don’t rush to return!”

He had no intentions to. Alex traipsed quietly once he spotted Daniel wearing headphones and resting on the couch with his eyes closed. Jamie, on the other hand, being his usual annoying self, gave him a thumbs-up and winked.

Alex flipped him off.

Slipped through the curtain. Found Miles.

“Hidin’ from me?”

Turning around, leaning against the metal counter, Miles chuckled. “Couldn’t if I tried.”

Whatever did he mean by that?

“How’s your mouth? Burnt your tongue?”

Well, it was feeling a bit fuzzy at the tip. Damned tea had been hot! Alex brought his hand up, touched his finger to it. Dabbed. “’s fine.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Drink tea?” He blinked. “Wanted to.”

“The flight attendant told you it’s hot. I told you. Daniel told you, albeit with different words. And you – _after_ you _already_ burnt your tongue – went for the damned cup again. Are you…” The words drifted off as Miles stared at him with bewilderment. “What’s it you’re trying to do? Prove yourself? Demonstrate your manhood by purposely injuring your bloody tongue?!”

“ _Demonstrate my manhood?_ ” Alex snorted. Loud. Insulted. Added a scoff for good measure. “Some nonsense that is. Like I have to demonstrate anything! Look, I don’t know about you, but I do know how to make up my mind about stuff. I wanted tea, so I had some. Was it hot? Yes. Was it unbearable? No!” Had he forgotten about his tea after Miles and Daniel had left their seats? Completely. It was probably cold by now. _Shit_!

“What’s it about Daniel that gets you so riled up? He’s been nothing but nice.”

_Oh, pff! Nice?_

Some people hid their snark well. Alex preferred his opponents on the witty side. Outspoken and clever. Not pretentious and elitist. Daniel acted like he was above jealousy. And boy, was the doc jealous. Miles might not see it, but Alex did! Daniel hated Alex’s guts. He despised Alex for his history with Miles.

Sure, _maybe_ Alex had himself to blame for that. _Maybe_ he’d pushed his buttons a tiny bit too hard. But the guy had it coming! He was constantly shoving his relationship with Miles in Alex’s face. Like some acid-drenched fingertip poking a gaping wound, he went and made lovey-dovey eyes at Miles or interlaced their hands when it truly wasn’t necessary to touch in the first place.

Wasn’t there some rulebook somewhere? _The laws of behavior in the presence of ex-partners_? Something like that? How not to act when trying to be respectful? Somebody ought to write such a book so Alex could gift it to Daniel! And then bill him for it.

Arms crossed, posture defensive, Alex met Miles’ bloody amused eyes squarely. “’m not jealous, if that’s what you’re implying!”

“Jealous?” A bark of laughter. “Why would you be?”

Okay, he was definitely _not_ jealous. But he was not _that kind_ of not jealous. Miles made it sound like the simple concept of jealousy was otherworldly. Would it be so shocking if Alex were jealous? Again, he was _not_. But what _if_ he were? What would be so damned funny about that? What was jealousy, after all? Wasn’t it a sign that not all feelings had yet left the building? Wasn’t it proof of underlying insecurity, one that had to be addressed? Wasn’t there pleasure in jealousy? If the latter came in measure, in small doses, wasn’t it healthy? Wasn’t it welcome? Wasn’t it a symbol of lingering emotions?

Miles lowered his face, the last tremors of amusement dying down. “I wouldn’t dare to presume that,” he spoke quietly, his voice almost glum.

More than ever, Alex wanted to be alone with him. He wanted to tie him to a chair and stare a fucking hole into his mind so he could read it! Why on earth didn’t Miles allow himself to believe that Alex had feelings left for him? They’d been happy. Fucking unimaginably happy! If there were no feelings, he’d not give a damn about him now! Hadn’t he told him that last night? Had Miles been too drunk to hear? To remember?

Miles stifled a yawn. “Scarcely got some good sleep,” he admitted. “Daniel’s headed for work later tonight. Think I’m gonna head in early.” Lips curved upward, his smile faint, though. “No longer seventeen, right?”

“No,” agreed Alex absentmindedly, still lost in his thoughts.

“No,” Miles said once more, more serious. With weight. “No, indeed.”

The curtain parted and Daniel stepped into view. “Miles, will—” His voice dropped a few notches. “Alex…”

“Danny.”

Miles threw his head back and groaned.

“Ally,” countered Daniel.

Alex chuckled, hardly affronted. Not by some white coat-wearing wannabe comedian. “Tsk, ain’t he cute, trying to provoke me,” he quipped to Miles, tossing him a wink before turning tail and walking out of the kitchenette. “Follow me, Danny. You’ve yet to tell me all the reasons you’re madly in love with Miles. So far I only know the arguments on his list.” And he was dying to know how if Daniel freely offered that space which Miles considered the deciding basis.

He doubted it.

.

.

** Spoiler Chapter 11: **

#

“You said Daniel was out working tonight. I was bored and I thought, why not pay you a visit. I’m dying to see the inside of your apartment!” Alex brushed past Miles, sidestepped the lack of invitation to do so, and shoved the box into his hands. “Cheese, salami, pepper, and one half with olives. Oh,” he reached into his jacket to pull out a DVD. “And James Bond. _You Only Die Twice._ A classic.”

#

Eyes met. Miles took a swig from his beer to keep from staring. “There’s so much I would change if I could do it again.” He’d always envisioned all the bad things that could happen if he walked up to Alex. He’d never imagined any good might follow.

“Then change, now. Why didn’t you tell me what Andy said about you behind your back?”

The slice of pizza he’d just taken from the box, Miles lowered back down as the surprisingly relaxed atmosphere of the moment evaporated. “So that’s why you’re here.”

“I came for many reasons.”

#


	11. Chess

**#2018**

**#Miles**

He was tempted to rub his eyes and gape. “You got to be kidding me,” exclaimed Miles at the sight of who was at the door. Four hours ago, they’d landed at Luton Airport, thankfully ending the world’s single most awkward flight in the history of aviation. Alex had given an entire hour of his life to making Daniel’s miserable, remarking about all the tiny details he knew of him, making quips that bordered on blue at best, and overall being his most annoying self.

Now here he was, pizza in hand, sporting a grin the size of the goddamned Pacific, and shrugging with the innocence of Mary Fucking Magdalene. “You said Daniel was out working tonight. I was bored and thought to myself, why not pay you a visit. Hang out for a bit. Tell you the truth, I’m dying to see the inside of your apartment!” Alex brushed past him, sidestepped the lack of invitation to do so, and shoved the box into his hands. “Cheese, salami, pepper, and one half with olives. Oh, wait!” He reached into his jacket to pull out a DVD. “And James Bond. _You Only Die Twice._ A classic.”

It wouldn’t have shocked him if Alex had shown up with a VHS. Or Video 2000. Miles would have made a joke about it, too, if it weren’t for a deeply unsettling idea spreading inside his mind at the speed of light. “Alex…I’m only going to ask this once. I hope you’ll be honest about it. It’s all I want. Honesty. Are you here to seduce me?” He knew how insane it sounded, but he had to ask. “Is this some crazy idea of yours? An attempt to get back at me, or…I don’t know, leave me high and dry? Maybe mess with my head? Are you out for revenge? Like, I know you’re not that person, and yet ­­‑ I can’t come up with any other reason why you’d drop by late at night with food and a movie, knowing I’m alone. Not just any movie, either. A _Bond_ movie.” This one of all the ones there were. This one was attached to memories.

Alex stopped in his tracks, paused amid shrugging out of his jacket, only to face Miles with the kind of wide-eyed stare that screamed _‘are you fucking nuts?’_ “Miles, don’t take this the wrong way, but one, I’m not into those petty games and you should know that. Two, what makes you think I’d want to have sex with you? Besides, three, even if I did – which, again, I don’t! – I wouldn’t need help from pizza or Connery for that, and, lastly, four, do you seriously think I’d be blunt ‘bout it if I had come for that?” With the last words came a look of amusement.

“One, your mind works in weird ways.” Miles closed the door to the apartment and came to rest with his back against it. One side of his mouth kicked up. “Two.” He raised his eyebrows mischievously. “Really?”

Alex grinned and got rid of his jacket.

“Three,” continued Miles, eyes fixed on him, on his body, his strong shoulders, his flexing arms. Damn it, he looked good. “You _would_. It still wouldn’t work. And four…” Wary, Miles tried to evoke all the small tells that Alex once had. “Why else are you here?”

“I’m a madly curious person. That shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. Always have been. Told ya, I want to see how you live.”

He hesitated to believe him. “Fine. Go for it. Take a look around.”

“Where’s the bedroom?”

“Behind lock and key,” laughed Miles. “Make do with the living room and the kitchen.”

“Miles!” Alex did inspect it. “Bedroom’s the only bulletproof way to see how one copes with life. Is it clean and neat and…” He sought him out, his expression quizzical. “Modern?”

“Maybe.”

“Tease. You hated the fanciness of that Parisian hotel. No gaudy gold themes, then. Maybe you’re into faux Asian style. Dragons, that stuff?”

He shook his head.

“No? Hm?” Alex snooped on. Traced the endless rows of records he’d amassed. Paused every once in a while, for a closer look, awe, or a cringe. “Taylor Swift?”

Of course, he’d spot it. “Great songwriter.”

“Fair point. It’s his, isn’t it?”

The way he said it, confident and assured, got Miles to smile.

Alex snickered. “Knew it. Grey and black?”

“Which record are you looking at?”

“I’m talking bedsheets.”

He tsk-ed. “It’s not just _my_ bedroom.”

“No need to point that out. Or,” speculated Alex, facing Miles with growing attentiveness, “is there?” He lost interest in the apartment and propped his hip against the back of his massive couch, hands inside his pockets. “Is that why you don’t want me to see it? Does it have two beds? Divided by a nightstand? Or a curtain? Is he the prude kind of partner? Sex in the dark? Only on Sundays? Twice a year, maybe?” His eyebrows wiggled.

Miles struggled to keep the smile on his face small. How easy it was for Alex to coax one out of him. One or a hundred. “You sure think a lot about my sex life. Why is that?”

“You apply deflection.” Alex enjoyed himself immensely as Miles could tell. “What’s it those psychology books say about that, huh?”

“My bedroom,” spoke Miles with the care of a chess player making his final move, “is very simple.”

Alex tilted his face up, giving a half-nod. “If yours is that, what’s his like?”

Checkmate. His head fell forward. And he chuckled, giving up. Damn him and his quick replies. “You’re still good at this, at twisting words.”

“I’m good at everything. But you already know that.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d say Alex was flirting with him and the mere idea of it was enough to confound Miles. It was something he didn’t know how to respond to. Was it all fun and games? An old habit that died hard, one that meant nothing? Or was there intent in Alex’s actions? A greater goal? Struggling to interpret that, he realized he no longer possessed the skills necessary for it. Once, he’d been able to tell what moved and drove him. Now, Alex was a mystery. Miles wandered through the open space of his apartment until he arrived at the table, where he tapped the lid of the box which he’d placed there. “It’s getting cold.”

A dramatic sigh filled the air. “There goes eating pizza on the floor of your bedroom. We’ve grown out of that, it appears.” Alex walked there. “I like your place.” His gaze crawled over the different pieces of furniture and the wide stretches of free space. “It’s much like mine. No clutter, crazy amounts of records.”

It was an expansive and spacious loft that Miles lived in. He’d found it two years ago. He, too, liked it. The walls were raw and the bricks were visible. The previous owner had removed the paint and the plaster to renovate only to fall into financial ruin in the mid of it. Miles never fixed it. The dark tone of the rocks gave it a warmth that the white walls of the modern three-bedrooms lacked. Wooden beams ran across the ceiling. Vintage lights made for a soft glow. He smirked at Alex. “You and no clutter?”

“Mostly,” he corrected. “No curtains?” Alex arrived at the table, lips continuously turned up. “Does your mom try to hang some, too? Mine does.”

“Not just mom.” Miles aimed for the fridge, grabbed two beers from it. “Drives him mad, too. Keeps bringing it up. Wants to install blinds or shutters, even considered tinted windows.”

“You sound unhappy about that.”

“Not unhappy.” He returned to the table and sat down across from him. Handed him a beer and a napkin. “I get his fears about people looking inside, but who would? It’s high up. Nothing to see. I do love watching out.”

“I do, too. Wouldn’t trade my windows for the world.” He reached for a slice with olives. Then his eyes jumped up to Miles, whose teeth sank into it. “Er…?”

Miles ate it, swallowed it, and blinked at Alex’s curious reaction. “What?”

“Since when do you eat olives?”

His look was one of loss as he contemplated the question. “Can’t say, to be honest.”

“People do change, then.”

“Sometimes,” granted Miles.

Darkness had fallen and, for a while, they ate in silence. Alex took in more of the details of the apartment and once he was done with that, his gaze landed on the large windows by the kitchen. A snort slipped free. “Fucking unbelievable. I can see my apartment from here!”

“What?” Miles shifted, followed his sight. “There’s a bunch of buildings in between. It’s like four blocks away!” It was impossible. He knew. He’d stared there often enough.

Alex pointed his arm in the general direction. “Yeah, but see the tip of that red roof, all the way behind the large tree, below the big cloud in the sky? That’s me!”

“That’s not your apartment, that’s your roof.”

“Details,” dismissed Alex.

Miles chuckled.

“How’d we go this long without running into each other? I mean, it took fourteen years for you to walk up to me at fucking Starbucks?” Alex sat back and marveled at it. “It’s ridiculous, don’t you think? There were moments at festivals or whatever when you walked by and I saw and—”

“Never said anything? Like I never said anything?” Miles could recall nearly every single one of those almost-interactions. The effort it took to keep away, to remain out of sight. How it had grown from merely dodging him at public events to consciously avoiding him at places he’d learned Alex frequented. How, in the beginning, he’d ducked out of sight because he’d felt uncomfortable and helpless. How, in the end, he’d done it because he’d been scared and ashamed. Eyes dropped to the pizza which no longer interested him. “You go shopping on Friday mornings.”

Alex stopped eating, his surprise strong. “What?”

“Fridays,” he explained and looked away. “Shortly before noon. At least you used to. In the supermarket two blocks from here. When I moved here, I was there. The first time, it was by chance. I hid by the frozen goods ‘til you’d paid and left.” The chilliness of that isle had burnt itself into his skin, had become a frosty memory. It had been warm that day. He’d worn a tee. The supermarket’s A/C had run at full capacity and he’d welcomed it up to the very moment Alex had stepped into view. Flaring nerves always made him freeze and added to the already frigid, artificial temperature, he’d stood next to a giant tower of butter that had been on sale and he’d fought a shiver. He’d clutched his shopping cart, had waited, and only when he’d seen Alex in the distance leaving the place had he made his way to the checkout. Half the items on his list, he’d forgotten to buy. “The week after that I came back to see if you were the kind of person who shops at the same time every week. And you were there again. Same procedure. I hid, waited, then finished my own shopping. And I avoided going shopping on Fridays ever since. Stupid, right?” He’d laugh if somebody else told this story.

But Alex didn’t laugh. He just sat there, listening.

His mind wandered to the day he’d spotted Alex and his date at the coffee place. “The day I walked up to you, Daniel and I were on our way back from friends of his. He wanted to stop there for coffees and I didn’t because I have a map of this corner of our town in my head and that coffee place is on your side of it. But I couldn’t tell him that, could I? Your dry cleaner is the one by the pharmacy. I don’t go to either, afraid to meet you there. There’s a really good Italian place ‘bout a block away.”

“Angelo’s,” muttered Alex.

Miles nodded. “You love Italian. Booked a table there once. You walked in as I was about to do the same. I jumped behind a building and asked myself if I’d ever find it in me to face you again.”

“You did that day at Starbucks.”

And it still baffled him that he’d not hidden behind a wall but had brazenly announced his presence. “I suppose I was fed up with myself and my cowardice. There were so many moments when we ran into each other. Or could have, if I’d been a bit braver.”

“You’re not the only coward,” Alex conceded and fidgeted with a crumb of pizza. “You shop on Tuesdays.” The crumb broke apart into tiny bits.

Eyes met. Miles took a swig from his beer to keep from staring. “There’s so much I would change if I could start over.” He’d always envisioned all the bad things that could happen if he walked up to Alex. He’d never imagined any good might follow.

“Then change, now. Why didn’t you tell me what Andy said about you behind your back?”

The slice of pizza he’d just taken from the box Miles lowered back down as the surprisingly relaxed atmosphere of the moment evaporated. “So that’s why you’re here.”

“I came for many reasons.”

“We weren’t talking around the time I met Richard.”

“Andy spread shit about you from the moment we announced you’d fill his spot, didn’t he? He told you something the night he left. I remember you and him hugging. And I never much thought about it. But it’s coming back to me, now. That night. You were different after he left. Quiet. Very quiet. I recall because I was excited about our first practice and you weren’t, and I was mad at you for that. I was sad, actually. I didn’t understand it. Tell me what he said to you.”

“None of that changes anything, Alex. A lifetime has passed.” Thinking back to that time, he didn’t like the person he’d been back then. He didn’t like that he’d believed him. That Andy had gotten to him. Not just once. Many times.

“It matters to _me_ ,” countered Alex. “It matters to me a great deal. He said something to you. And you just confirmed that. Tell me. Please.”

“He said it to hurt me. And if you think back, a part of me even gets it. ‘cause I don’t know how I would have reacted if, on the night I left Liverpool, my band members had giddily informed me that I’d been replaced by somebody else. You called it a great turn of events, Alex. In front of him.”

Alex got up, cleaned his fingers with the napkin, then tossed it. Reached for the bottle of beer. “I won’t feel bad for that.”

“That’s not why I said it.”

“I know. Still. Maybe he had a right to be pissed off that night. But Richard didn’t become our manager ‘til years later, which means Andy had fucking years to cool off and get the fuck over it. But he didn’t. Tell me what he said!”

“What’s gonna happen if I do? You call him up, give him hell for it? What for?”

“He fucking deserves it, Miles!”

“For what?!”

“For saying what he said!”

“You don’t know what he said!” Miles shook his head; his refusal was steadfast. “He said it to _me_ and not to you.”

“Ooh,” snarled Alex, his temper flaring, “that’s it, then? It’s not my business anymore? He hurt you but I found out after you ran away and because of that, I have to fucking swallow it? Why don’t you tell the story to Daniel?! If he’s got an ounce of honor in him, he’ll give Andy a call and then some.”

“Cut it, Alex!”

Alex took another swig and scoffed with anger. “Remember a few years back when you went out with that soccer player and every pap in town came after you? Ran into the soccer player once. He must have caught wind of our past somehow. Said you’d bitched to him about me. Said you’d called me a sick slut who’d blow everyone for a bit of attention and—”

“Fucking asshole said what?” Miles flew out of the chair. Anger pumped through his veins. “That vile little rat. He’s the one who called the fucking paps each time we met. How dare he call you that?!” Brimming with energy, with a blazing urge to find the dick and call him out on it, he met Alex’s eyes and pleaded, “I swear I never spoke a word to him about you!” Inside him, a searing magma was threatening to erupt. “Fucker’s gonna get to know me in ways he’s nev—”

“ _That_ anger right there,” shot Alex, holding Miles’ infuriated gaze, “is why I want to know what Andy said! I never met that fucking soccer player in my life!”

“What?!” Miles was lost. His emotional curve was spiking high and low in intervals too short for his head to catch up. Fingers drove through his hair. “Are you fucking joking?!”

“I lied, Miles. I fucking made that shit up.” Sarcasm dripped from the words he spat, “What’s it to you if some guy spread shit about me? Huh? What’s it to you? He said it to _me_ , right?”

Miles was bristling. “If somebody tells shit—”

“Then you want to know as much as I do! Fucking tell me what Andy said!”

Damn it to hell! Miles began to pace. All that antagonism inside of him became too much to handle. He needed to vent. Needed an outlet. “Fuck,” he bristled, and caved. “He said it was only a matter of time before you’d come to regret me. Turns out he was right.” He reached the counter and held onto it, trying to cool down.

“He wasn’t,” whispered Alex.

The deep decline of his voice made Miles stare at him. It sounded like pity, like compassion. And he neither wanted it nor deserved it. “Stop, alright? Don’t lie for my sake. I hurt you, Alex. In the worst way. I know that. And none of the reasons I have can make up for that.” His shoulders shrugged and even if he wished, more often than he liked, that he could go back in time and do it all over again, he couldn’t. “It is what it is. It’s late. You should go.” He didn’t trust his own state of mind. Who knew what they’d say or do if he stayed. All that reminiscing they’d dived into was making it harder to remember the present. To remember that Alex lived his life apart from his, to remember that Daniel was his partner now. Despite everything, he’d made a conscious choice to be with Daniel. Boring as Alex might think him to be, Miles appreciated that about him. He had a quiet charm. He was dependable. Kind and warm and giving. He was funny and cute. And he looked at the world from a very distant spot, always seeing the greater vista. He rarely ever got mad.

Alex grabbed his jacket, finished his beer, and put the bottle back. Then, to Miles’ astonishment, he headed for the door without a word of protest. “It wasn’t a lie,” Alex said on his way out. “Try as I might, I never managed to regret you.”

“But you want to,” concluded Miles with resignation, staying in his spot by the counter. The words could no longer break his heart. The idea that this man whom he’d loved utterly and completely at one point sought to make him a memory best forgotten had cracked and splintered his heart a very long time ago. Hearing him confirm it now was little more than footsteps over shards of glass. One heard the noise. One knew the sound. But the glass had shattered before. The sharp pang of shock had dulled. It had gotten replaced with the lingering pain of knowing there was no repairing it.

His body still carried the scars from the cutting edges of when he’d tried to pick them up. Awful as it was, that, too, was one of the reasons he was with Daniel. He couldn’t hurt him. Not like Alex could.

Alex paused by the door, hand on the handle. “You don’t know what I want, Miles.”

There was a truth.

The door fell shut behind him.

**#Alex**

“Morning, Miles.”

Miles’ fingers reached into messy short hair and scratched there. A groan filled the air. Self-conscious hands quickly tightened his robe’s belt. “When you spoke of a haunting ghost, I thought you meant me. Not yourself. You left less than twelve hours ago!”

“So?” Alex offered a sunny smile and gave his best to look upbeat. Last night had been tough. On both, he assumed. And even though he had no idea how he’d wanted the night to end, the way it had ended had not been it. “You’re alone?”

Dread. “Why?”

Eyes rolled. “Just asking. Get dressed. Takin’ you out for coffee.”

“Why?” asked Miles once more.

“Last night sucked. On the upside, however, we are talking. More so than in a very long time.” It was important to focus on the positive. If the last few weeks had revealed anything, then that it was about time to address the past and move forward. “Let’s keep on doing that.”

“At nine on a Sunday, we so fucking won’t. Wanna go back to bed!”

“I’m game.”

A pause. “Alone.”

Alex’s grin was instant. “I swear I heard hesitation in there.”

The door slammed shut. Into his face. Alex recoiled.

“Ten minutes,” it roared from inside. “Wait outside.”

Laughing, Alex rested against the door frame and settled in. “Make it five or you pay for your own coffee!”

They’d walked to the nearest coffee shop. Alex took a labored breath as the guy in front of him changed his elaborate order for the third time.

Next to him, Miles snickered. “Thirsty?”

“All of London is here for some fucking coffee!”

“It’s Sunday morning.”

“And none of these people have coffee makers?”

“We’re here, too!”

“Not for much longer,” grumbled Alex. “Hopefully.”

“Maybe no cream? All that money for a bit of extra,” pondered the guy at the counter.

Alex reached past him, slammed a five Pound note onto the counter, and shut the stranger’s confused expression up with a terse warning. “Take the cream and get going. Order’s on me.”

“Alex!” Miles looped his arm around him and yanked him back, then offered his own smile to the stranger. An apologetic one. “Take your time!”

 _‘By all means,’_ Alex wanted to add, no longer interested in coffee now that a prime example of a strong arm was wrapped around his middle, the hold snug yet stern, distracting him not only from his quest for caffeine but also from the people nearby. Feeling just naughty enough this morning, he placed his hand on top of Miles’, right by the hip, which he twisted to slip deeper into his clutch.

“Stop it,” fumed Miles, jerking away from him in a split second.

Alex let out a drawn-out sigh. “You’re no fun.” He turned to the barista. “One large premium hot chocolate with extra cream and one large coffee with no sugar, no cream, but with caramel for my friend _Grumpy_ over there.”

Miles, eyes still carrying a remnant of annoyance over Alex’s moment of physical indulgence, lifted his brows and wondered, “how do you know how I drink my coffee?”

Because he’d read every single interview of him that was in existence. Because he treated the information inside those as others did the holy bible. Because he knew Miles, even though he probably didn’t since too many fucking years had gone by in silence. Because he paid attention to details and retained the most inane morsels of information. “Lucky guess,” claimed Alex and paid.

“When you order for me, it’s this spur-of-the-moment thing.” Miles took the coffee from the counter yet kept his gaze on him and it was a sharp gaze, one aiming to pierce through Alex’s well-built armor. “You don’t put much thought to it. Almost as though it happens by accident.”

Alex not only held his comment; he raised it another question. “What are you trying to say?”

“Yesterday, on the plane, it was different.” They exited the place, made it to the busy sidewalk. “That bit about Bond? You were glad that you could say it. As if you’d waited for a chance.”

He took a sip from his steaming hot chocolate, winced, and licked his lip even though it was his tongue that had gotten burnt. _Again._ “I did not,” he lied, knowing full well that Miles was onto something.

“You were.”

Everybody knew what Miles said in interviews. Nobody knew that he loved Bond. That he admired Connery for his easy swagger. That he liked the Bond-Girls less for their looks but more for their comebacks. That he was a huge fan of film scores and loved the ones of the Bond films for their sultry undertones and the elongated instrumental parts. The saxophones that stretched beyond scenes. The pianos that set moods. That one moment when Bond faced the camera and the extravaganza began.

Nobody knew that Miles loved nicknames because he’d never called anyone but Alex by anything other than their names. But he’d called Alex plenty. From the breath-stealing ‘baby’ to the toe-curling ‘luv’.

Nobody knew that Alex remembered every little detail about their past and drew a possibly perverse pleasure from the few chances he was given to make that knowledge public. He’d wanted Daniel to see that he, Alex Turner, had come first and would remain first and that not even the ugliest pair of _Ugg_ boots could distract from the fact that between him and Miles not all cords had yet been cut.

He didn’t divulge any of that. “I saw no guitars at your place,” remarked Alex, changing the topic with a sledgehammer. “Why is that?”

“You saw little of my place,” said Miles after a beat, following his lead. “I got a studio at home where I keep ‘em.”

“You keep calling it your place.” The same way Miles kept making distinctions between his friends and Daniel’s friends. All was neatly divided.

“It is my place. It’s his, too. But also mine.”

“Why inside a studio?”

Miles sipped his coffee and watched some strangers in the distance, street dancers or others. As though Alex had hit a sore topic, one Miles didn’t want to elaborate on, he brushed it off with a roll of his shoulder.

Alex was insistent. “Why?”

“To have ‘em all in one place,” offered Miles.

“Does he not like that you play?” What wasn’t to like about that? Alex loved – _had_ loved watching him do so. That had been the minutes and hours in which Miles had strived the most. When he’d shone as bright as the sun at noon on a day with record temperatures.

“It’s the opposite,” Miles revealed after a minute. “He sits there like a spectator. Watches me.”

“Like I did.”

His face darkened. Became sad. “He’s not you.” Another sip. “I don’t know what he sees or hears when I sing. There’s— God, I don’t know. Like he becomes a fan or something. You…” For a fleeting moment, Miles met Alex’s eyes and Alex swore he saw longing in there. Until Miles looked away. “You saw me. When I played a song and you watched, it’s like you could see all the way into my heart. I could never hide from you. I loved that,” he admitted quietly. “He sees a famous person.” A chime from his pocket announced a new text. Miles checked. Read it. “He wants to meet up for lunch at the hospital.” The prospect brought no light to his face and Alex didn’t know what to make of that. “I have to…”

“Yeah,” said Alex thickly. “Yes. Go.”

**#2003**

**#Miles**

“I told mom we’d be back for dinner,” Miles called through the chunkiness of his helmet, hands holding Alex’s sides. “Where are you taking me?” It was early May, the weather was getting better, the warmth began to return, and he’d traded his leather jacket for a zipped sweatshirt. Alex only wore a tee. It bothered him. Through the thin fabric poured the heat from his body and it seeped into his palms. It was bad enough that he had to hold onto him in the first place. It had been considerably easier in the cold days with two heavy jackets and some gloves between them.

“I could go faster,” complained Alex, sounds stifled by the protective cover over his head, but it didn’t filter out the flaring annoyance, “if you fucking held on properly! I don’t know how often I have to tell you!”

“I’m holding as tight as I can.”

On the forsaken road, Alex pulled the moped to a stop.

“Are we there?” asked Miles, irritated. “What’s here? Bloody nothing!”

“We’re not.” Alex’s hands went for Miles’ and yanked hard, so fast that he had no chance to pull ‘em away. Miles found his entire body being hauled forward. Where had been a gap before, now was no fragment of space. His thighs pressed against the back of Alex’s. His pelvic area was flush against Alex’s ass. And his arms were being tied around Alex’s waist like a bloody safety belt. “ _This_ is holding on tight.”

“This is nuts,” bit Miles.

Alex started his bike again. “Get over it. I’m not afraid of touching you, get it? You’re fucking weird around me and I don’t like that! Is it still ‘bout the hands-thing? It happened months ago!”

What did it matter when it happened? It happened. They’d held hands. And he’d liked it far too much for somebody who was nothing but a friend. He’d thought they’d cleared the air a few weeks back when he’d come over for a talk only to end up falling asleep in Alex’s arms and by that making stuff worse than ever. When he’d woken up, Alex’s arm had been curled around his shoulders and instead of jumping apart or even bringing a decent amount of distance between them, he’d snuggled right back in and closed his eyes again. Thank God Alex had been dead to the world and not witnessed any of that! “Where are we going,” he demanded with impatience, not sure how much longer he could bear being too close to him. Panic surged through him as he feared his body would soon react in ways that couldn’t be fixed.

“Fucking chill, we’re almost there.”

“Where is there?” It occurred to him that not only had they not yet reached their cryptic destination. They also needed to return home. On the same small moped. A grunt broke free. A village came to view. “Where are we?”

“Little town outside the city. Granny lives here. In an old-folks home. I should warn you; the entire city is made up of old people. Which is not a bad thing. Just, be prepared. Like stepping into a different time zone. Her birthday was last Saturday and my parents went. But we had our gig and I couldn’t make it.”

A wave of guilt overcame him as his shoulders sagged. Alex had brought him along to visit his beloved grandmother? The one he’d heard the wildest tales about? Alex might have come here for her birthday, but Miles felt he was the one being made a gift. He gave Alex a squeeze, an attempt at making up. “Can’t wait to meet her!”

“Figured,” laughed Alex, covering Miles’ arms, crossed in front of his stomach, with his free one. “You two will be a match made in heaven. She’s got the same sense of humor you have. Crooked and a bit dirty.”

“My sense of humor is very innocent,” he protested swiftly, with a chuckle, all his worries suddenly as far from his mind as imaginable.

“Jokin’ already.” He nodded his head. “It’s the building right there. But we have to drop by the bakery across the street first. She’ll flip if I don’t bring cake!”

“Granny!” Alex beamed, brighter than Miles had ever seen him do at the sight of the old lady in pink sweats, with rollers in her hair, and a remote in her hand. He dove for a hug and stayed for a long time.

“Alexander,” she exclaimed excitedly. “Penny told me you’d come by. Gosh, look at you! How handsome you are. But that hair,” she frowned, giving the strands a tug, “is it necessary to be that long?”

Self-conscious hands patted his curly mop. “It is. It’s of vital importance.” Short, clipped hair was a sign of order and neatness. Alex was a rock star in the making. Hair had to be long and untamed. That’s how Alex had justified his continued absence from hairdressers to his mother the other day. Miles had wheezed in the corner. “What about you? Got a hot date tonight? What’s with the rollers?”

“We’re watching _Love Boat_ later. Gotta look good for that!” A smile lit on her face. “Who are you?” She looked at Miles first and then at the box in his hand. “Is that cake?”

“Chocolate cake,” Miles told her and held it out. “Happy belated birthday, Misses Turner.”

“My new favorite friend, you are. Call me granny and give me a hug. But make it a quick one, I can smell that chocolate and it makes me hungry.”

Miles gave her a quick hug, then, and grinned as he handed her the box.

“That’s Miles,” declared Alex, his arm wrapping around his shoulder, drawing him nearer and giving him a squeeze. “My best friend! He’s the guitar genius I told you about.”

“The one teaching you all those new tricks?”

Miles faced the ground, blushing. “Alex already knows all the tricks. If anything, I learn from him.” Not just chords and a way to turn words into songs. He’d learned from him how to be honest and fierce, and how to go after what one wanted. He was still learning that.

Arm remaining in place, Alex hauled him even closer. “We learn from each other, don’t we? The perfect team.”

“Have a seat, boys.” Her hand motioned for a couch nearby. “Let’s settle and chat a bit. You can watch me eat cake and tell me ‘bout those girls you make swoon. Or boys,” she added, eyes sparkling. “I’m a very modern woman. None of those stuffy, old ones.” Her head dipped forward as she confided, “I had a splendid affair with a beautiful woman back in my early days before your grandpa came along. It was forbidden back then. Made me do it in the first place! Do you?”

“Have affairs?” asked Miles, falling headfirst for her extrovert side. No wonder Alex loved her so much. “None lately.”

“Shame.” Her eyes, grey and crinkly in the corners, still oozed joy and mischief. “Have one. Misbehave, boys. What’s life for if not for that? I’d offer you some cake, but I want it and you can go out and get your own.”

Alex laughed. “’tis fine, granny.”

Miles took a seat and Alex took the one right next to him. It was a three-seat sofa, but they’d scarcely filled the space of one. Thighs pressed against another. Alex left no room for air between them. Thrown off-guard by his crave for contact, Miles gave him a side-eyed glance, a silent ‘what’s this?’

Seeing and ignoring it, Alex leaned forward, bringing even more of his body against Miles’. A part of him began to think he was doing it out of spite. For every bit of hesitation Miles displayed, Alex would counter with even deeper contact. “Tell me, granny, what’s up with you and Fred? Still dating?”

“Nah,” said his grandmother, waving a hand. “Had to let him go. He was making schmoozy eyes at the pretty young nurse. But she told him she’s too young for him. Now he’s got to make do with Irma from upstairs. Poor chit lost her leg years ago due to an accident and she sits in a wheelchair most days. She moved in on Fred the moment he was available again. Was a slow move, though.” She licked a crumb off her finger. “Somebody misplaced her leg prosthesis the other day.”

“Granny,” hissed Alex.

Miles burst into laughter.

“I didn’t say it was me. I’m a very old lady. I can barely move.”

Alex face spilled over with awe. “Who’d you pay?”

“Paying?” She clutched her pearl necklace. “Hush! What a dirty business. It’s all ‘bout knowing people. Mark my words, boys. Always listen to the details. You never know when the smallest bit of information might come to your favor one day.” Her hand gave Alex’s a pat. “That’s what I’ve been trying to teach you from the start, my favorite grandchild, is it not? Always, always listen.”

“I’m your only grandchild,” noted Alex and gave her arm a playful slap in return. “You dirty bird!”

“Enough about me,” decided the old lady. “Tell me about you! Penny told me your band is playing in local clubs? That’s fantastic!”

“Isn’t it?”

“People seem to like us,” admitted Miles. He caught sight of Alex, whose cheeks were dimpled thanks to a giant smile. Eyes were brightly ignited as they always were when he had the chance to talk about music and the band. His skin, pale from being inside for most of the winter months, glowed almost iridescently. Miles couldn’t look away.

When Alex noticed, the smile morphed into a smirk. Unlike him, Alex reveled in his attention. He cherished it. At times, it seemed he courted it. His head tilted the slightest bit and he licked his lips. If Miles didn’t know better, he would say Alex had just flirted with him.

That would be insane. To think that? Wasn’t it? His heart skipped a beat. Or two.

Was he making too much of it? Of holding hands? If Alex was so bloody cool with it, why wasn’t he? After all, Alex had told him it was theirs to decide what they did as friends. It was theirs to decide where the lines ran. Why was he so afraid, so rattled by it all, when Alex wasn’t?

Alex touched his thigh absentmindedly, gave it a clasp. “He’s got the same love for expensive guitars that I have. And just like me, he’s got no money for ‘em.” It made him chuckle. “Good thing we’re headed for rock stardom. One day we’ll be rich and famous, and we’ll buy a giant mansion just to have the space to keep all our guitars, won’t we, Mi? And we’re gonna plaster all the walls with our platinum records and our Grammys and Brits and all the other ones.” The hand moved, just an inch, none more, but it felt like a mile of something. “Just wait!”

“Trust me,” granny told him with a solid nod, “I have no intention of going anywhere! But you do.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. “I do?”

“To the fridge in the hospitality area. There’s a giant box inside it. It says ‘almond milk with grain and salt’ and—”

“Ew,” blurted Miles.

“Bring it to me,” Granny ordered. Her voice lowered. “I hid a can of cream in there. This cake needs some extra!”

Laughing, Alex went at it.

Miles followed him with his eyes as Alex walked away, startled from it though when his grandma slapped his leg. In her eyes, he recognized the same slyness that made Alex’s so bloody dangerous. “You like him, don’t you?”

He gulped. What had he done which could have given that away? “Eh…”

She inclined to whisper, “he likes you, too. Very, very much! I’m his grandma. I can tell those things. Have you told him? Tell him if you haven’t. He will be happy to hear it! Trust me on that!”

“Well, he’s my best mate,” admitted Miles with the same speed with which he discarded any other possible meaning of her words. “Of course, I like him.”

She nodded. Then winked. “Got it.”

“Got what?” Alex sat down, handing over the cream. His leg was squashed against Miles’ upper one, the contact so firm there was no way it had happened accidentally. 

Alex’s grandmother smiled. “Miles just told me what great friends the two of you are and that he likes you a very great deal!”

Looking away, Miles squirmed. She certainly was a dirty player! “Just…”

Alex flung his arm right back around Miles’ shoulders. Miles caught his gaze. “Of course he does. We’re mates. The best ever. And we barely know each other a year. Can you imagine where we’ll be a year from now? Or ten? Inseparable,” he announced with excitement. “Rocking the world together and having adventures everywhere we go. We’ll travel and party—”

“And when you do,” the elder Misses Turner joined in on Alex’s dreams, “you’ll break me out of here and take me on tour with you.”

“Only if you wear our band shirt and leather pants,” laughed Alex.

“I’ll even get another tattoo!”

“Another?” Not just Alex’s face filled with awe. Miles was stunned as well.

“You got inked, Misses Turner?”

“Granny,” corrected granny and flung a wink Miles’ way. “The list of things I haven’t yet done in my life is extremely short. Same goes for the list of my regrets. Never hesitate to make mistakes. Be rash and wild and excited, boys. Leave the apologizing for tomorrow.”

It was late by the time they left. “She’s amazing, isn’t she? Swear, sometimes I think she was a gangster in her glory days.” Alex skipped the two steps in front of the entrance, jumped, and swirled around. “Sorry it took this long. I’ll explain it to your mom. Just wanted you to meet her.”

He was happy he’d gotten the chance to. Miles nodded. “Glad about that. Thank you for taking me along. Even though I’ve been such a grump all day. She’s one of a kind.” Much like Alex was. Untamed and wild and vivacious and full of life. He was still staring at him, at his effervescent eyes and his ebullient smile, and wondered if he’d ever tire of it. Right now, he could stare for the rest of his life.

“You have been a bit of a _Grumpy_ , haven’t you?” Alex stuck out his tongue, untroubled by it. He never held a grudge for long. “Hey, we’re fine. Swear. Besides, could have told you what I had in mind.” He reached the moped and took a look around, his smile lessening. The sun began to settle, and the temperature had fallen. “Shit, it’s gotten cold.” He rubbed his arms. “Should have brought my jacket.”

“Take my sweater,” offered Miles, hands halfway up to unzipping it when Alex shook his head.

“Then you’ll freeze.” He got on. Miles followed. “Be my blanket,” suggested Alex, the idea drawing his own laughter. “Keep me warm?” He put on the helmet, reached behind for Miles’ arms, and wrapped them back around his middle.

This time, Miles didn’t put up a fight. He scooted forward, as far as he could, locked his arms, and leaned in. Maybe Alex had meant it as a joke but making sure his best mate wouldn’t freeze was the least Miles could do to make up for his bad mood during the last couple of weeks. Something he felt increasingly guilty about. His own insecurity had held him inside a chokehold and that, in turn, had nearly dented his friendship with Alex. He wouldn’t allow that to continue. Miles put his chin, covered by the helmet as it was, onto his shoulder. “Ready.” It was late. It was dark. And as the last of the sun began to set, he let his fears and concerns descend with it. The words of his grandmother echoed back in his head.

“ _Leave the apologizing for tomorrow._ ”

He’d do that. He’d regret tomorrow. But he’d live today. “Too tight?”

“Never,” spoke Alex, giving his arm a pat of reassurance. “Mind if we drive fast?”

“As fast as you want.”

“Hold tight then.”

“I will.”

Alex kicked up the stand and drove off. The fresh air of a late spring evening hit Miles’ face through the open visor of his helmet and kept him awake and alert to his senses. Plastered against Alex’s strong back, he took in deep breaths and savored the feeling of complete contentment. Here, on his bike, curled around him, he felt invincible. It was just them and the endless road. There was nothing else.

Miles darted even closer, unmanageable as it was.

“All’s good?” asked Alex, sounding pleased.

“All’s perfect,” promised Miles.

 _‘You’re perfect,’_ he wanted to say. His palms rested flat against Alex’s stomach, which was taut and stiff and firm and nothing he enjoyed with girls. He’d always liked it when girls were soft and delicate and female. Alex was slender and unyielding. Strong, even though he didn’t look like it at first glance. Overcome by an ardent need to run his hands up and down his front, Miles took deep, controlled breaths in an attempt to control his urges. It had the opposite effect. The heavy inhales had the unintended consequence of filling his nostrils with Alex’s scent. That musky body wash he’d seen him toss into his gym bag. That deodorant which he knew Alex used. The remnants of fragrance from the detergent his mother used. And his natural scent.

If he had to describe that mixture to anyone, he’d call it magical due to a lack of proper descriptive terms. Good didn’t come near it. Flawless lacked depth. Intoxicating was close. But bewitched he was.

Half an hour later, they pulled up in front of Miles’ house. Maybe they’d gone too fast. Where he’d been scared to close the divide this afternoon, he now dreaded to invite it back. Hands let up, but he paced himself, fighting for every extra second he could get. As though letting go of a person commanded the greatest heed, he slid his palms away, dragged them back at a snail’s pace, past his waist, down his hips. Away entirely. No contact left. Then he sat back, feeling the coldness of the night hit the heated front of his thighs that were suddenly unprotected.

“Want to stay for dinner?” Or tv. Or chatting. Or homework. Watching him depart for the night seemed too hard a task to endure now. Miles took off the helmet.

Alex kept his on. “Already past nine. Gotta go home,” he told him, words wearing the same reluctance Miles experienced. “Mom and dad probably wonder where I am. Tomorrow?”

Miles nodded, mentally starting a clock, counting the hours. “At school?”

“I’ll pick you up before. I’ll come early!”

“Yeah?” He was staring. Blatantly so.

Alex was, too. Lips slowly curved up. “Night, Mi.”

“Night, Al.”

.

.

** Spoiler Chapter 12: **

#

“Yeah. It’s late anyway and…” He grabbed his jacket. Put it on. “Daniel must wonder where you are. It’s his day off, isn’t it?”

“Told him I had a meeting.”

“A meeting,” he teased, pleased by the fact that Miles had decided to keep his get-togethers with him a secret. These weren’t innocent run-ins, then. Or harmless coffees. Else he’d have told his boyfriend. Alex poked his shoulder impishly. “How professional you make me sound.”

Miles cast his gaze to the floor as his voice dropped to the same level. “I’ve never seen your place.”

#

Miles shifted, searching for his and letting melancholy fill his voice. “You make it sound so trivial. As if I’d given up on something great for no good reason at all.”

Alex met his. “That wasn’t my intention,” he swore. “Knowing all that, I think I even understand why you left the band. I get that you wanted to prove to yourself and to the world that you could do it on your own. I even get why you wanted to leave town, start over.” But the heartbroken kid in him only cared to know one thing: “Why did you leave me?”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Miles’ lips twitched into the saddest smile Alex had ever seen. “What we had? I wasn’t ready for that. The kind of dreams you made me dream, you don’t dream ‘em at seventeen. I was overwhelmed. I got scared.”

#


	12. Should

**Thanks for all the kind words, your love for this story, and the kudos. Love you. Hope you enjoy the new chapter. 😘**

**#June 2003**

**#Alex**

A switch had been flipped. Or, maybe, a bomb had gone off. Something had happened. He stood in the doorway of the empty dining room, giving it a hard inspection, and smiled quietly to himself when Miles’ arm slid over his shoulder, around his neck, and then, a second later, the rest of his friend’s body slowly glued itself to his back. It was the end of June, the temperature was high, and even though he’d gotten a much-needed haircut as his mother had called it, he still felt the heat creep through every inch of his body. All of it, the sun, the stuffy hotness inside this room, the thought of half a dozen relatives about to descend onto this small space for coffee and cake – it was his mother’s birthday – everything made the hairs on his neck stand up in protest.

The one thing he didn’t mind was Miles’ body pressed against his own. Even though that was the hottest thing in all of it.

Somewhere down the road, Miles had forgotten to be awkward around him. He’d just stopped panicking at physical contact. At first, he’d begun by slipping into his destined spot behind him on his moped, becoming his personal set of safety belts. Tight belts. The best belts. Then he’d stopped jerking his hand away each time Alex had accidentally touched it – and he’d accidentally touched it often, just to be sure. After that, the need to sit at least a foot away from him had vanished. And for about a week now, he’d taken up the habit of sneaking in a sly hug. _Hug_ might be too big of a word. Rather, a sly… _contact_.

Alex was thrilled. It was the most he could have of him without opening up about just how close he really wanted him. That, he didn’t dare to do. Not when it had taken this fucking long to get Miles to show a little bit of physical affection. Christ beware, if Alex told him he dreamt about him, or entertained the occasional fantasy of a kiss, even gave some thought to the idea of going for a kiss, Miles would freak like the first victim in every slasher movie ever and never return!

“Looks good, wouldn’t you say?”

“The table?” Alex took it in, with its teacups and plates and cake forks and folded napkins. “I think we did well.”

“Right?” A whiff of hot breath slammed against his ear. A silent chuckle. “It’s weird. Your hair, I mean.”

Alex touched it. It was far from short, but not nearly as long as it had been yesterday. “Takes time to get used to, I guess. It’ll grow back.” The stuff a son did for his mom.

“Tickles my ear.” Steamy air accompanied each word Miles spoke and slammed against Alex’s cheek, which nearly but not quite touched Miles’. Alex was tempted to drop his head to the side, to close the gap. Make the damned leap and get it over with.

“Boys?” David Turner called from the door. “Where are you?”

Miles let go at once. Alex bit back an eye-roll. “Dining room.”

“All’s set up,” said Miles. “Need any more help?”

“A hand with the cake, maybe? We kept it in the basement, where it’s cool. Didn’t fit into the fridge with all the other ones. I think your mom overdid herself. Four? Who needs four cakes?”

“One for me, one for Miles, leaves two for you,” grinned Alex. “Sounds ‘bout proper.”

“Funny, son. Go on, go bring it up.”

“Not him,” jibed Miles. “He’ll eat it before it sees the light of day.”

“Not fair! A bite, maybe.”

“There are two cakes in the basement,” said Penny, stepping out from the kitchen. “I made one for you earlier, boys. It’s very nice that you and every other member of your band offered to come today to celebrate. But it’ll be crowded as it is. Now, if you don’t mind too terribly much, would it be okay if you take the cake I made for you and the rest of the future rock stars, chocolate with gummy bears…” Her eyes spun a circle as she said it. “And have it elsewhere?”

“Would it be—”

“Okay?” asked Miles, facing Alex. “I think we can—”

“Make that work,” assured Alex, grinning at Miles.

“We can eat it outside.”

“By the pool!” Alex's eyes lit up.

“Since when have you got a pool?”

David chuckled. “He found his old kiddy pool in the basement this morning when he made one of the many check-ups on the cake.”

“It was all alone in the dark. Was worried something might happen to it.”

“Did you think the cake was scared of the dark?” snickered Miles.

“I’d say the cake was more scared of Alex than anything else,” jested David.

Both laughed.

“Hey,” objected Alex.

It was nearly midnight by the time the last ones had left. It was astonishing how much standing power his relatives had left. Truly astonishing.

“Bloody tired,” yawned Miles, pulling the window open wide in an attempt to let more air in. “’tis so fucking hot, I can’t even stand without sweating.”

“It’s always like this. Few hot days in June and then comes the rain and we have to wait all month for summer to return.” He dragged the cover off the bed. “Won’t need that tonight.” After he’d dropped it to the floor, he roughed his shirt over his head, stripped out of his pants, and plopped down onto the mattress, wearing none more than his boxers. He scarcely laid down and already the mattress felt warm. Where, in winter, he loved to slip into a well-heated bed and oftentimes ended up disappointed to find it cold, in summer he wanted it cold but it never was. Life. A dirty player. He rolled onto his back, sprawled out, and grunted. “Could trade my _Fender_ for an A/C.”

Miles laughed. “You’d trade an A/C for a second _Fender_!”

Alex flung a pillow his way. Miles swiftly evaded it and began to strip down to his boxers as well. Cast in the serene lights of the moon, he looked much taller than he was. His hair was flat, his face stoic and hard, almost as though he concentrated on undressing. Hands tugged on the hem of the tee. Alex let his eyes trace the smooth stretches of skin from the delicate spot where his hips emerged from the waistband of his pants, up the taut skin across his stomach, up to the flat chest covered by a sprinkling of fine hairs. He noticed not for the first time how fit he was, even though it wasn’t obvious to everyone. Hidden beneath clothes, he looked like the regular skinny kid. But he was wiry and fit. His hips were narrow, his arms long and lean. Shoulders defined, a side-effect of endless hours playing guitar. The boxers, revealed when he dropped his pants, were short and came up at the top of his thighs. Brunet hairs dusted distinct legs. Miles sometimes went for a run and when he did he wore shorts. His lower legs had gotten the slightest hue of a tan. His feet were white.

Miles tossed the pants away. “I can feel you staring.” He spoke quietly. Uncertain.

Alex turned away. “Sorry.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” he suggested, and the words were not what made Alex spin back and watch him, but the hesitant way in which he’d spoken them.

“No. Why?”

“Just…cause.”

Scooting over, making room for him, he shook his head. “No.” The first ‘no’ had been prompt and instinctual. The second one was thought-through and firm.

Miles got in and laid down ceremoniously, making sure to keep all parts of his body neatly aligned with his own.

It amused Alex despite his own insecurity. He, too, was acutely aware of Miles’ presence, and of the fact that he was next to naked. Which was a bloody vexing thing, he fretted inwardly. He’d seen him in the locker room countless times! They’d showered after PE. They’d—

The knuckles of Miles’ left hand skimmed Alex’s when he shifted. Hissing sharply, he lost his train of thought. And instead of scooting away from him, or even only removing his hands, he did the thing that felt the most natural of it all. The most intuitive. He grabbed Miles’ hand and held it.

Next to him, Miles went rigid. Alex saw from the corner of his eyes. He saw despite the shallow, faint lights. More so, he sensed it. Heard it in the way the gentle tune of his breathing became a loud, swooshing sound, one that reminded him of a steam train and which might have been amplified by the beat of his pulse. Of Miles’ pulse or his own, that he couldn’t discern. Everything, every little reaction of either of their bodies was broadcasted unnaturally loud at the moment as if all other noises had vanished from the face of the earth.

This time, he couldn’t excuse it as a slip of a finger. As one-fifth of a tiny lapse of judgment. This time, it was deliberate. These were two hands, and with a gasp into the silent night, Alex acknowledged that Miles returned the hold. Fingers interlaced.

It was all so very strange. There were times when he’d been with girls. With insanely hot girls. And even the filthiest of those moments couldn’t hold a candle to what this bit of physical interaction did to his entire body. How desperate for more it made him.

“Miles?” Alex had to consciously wet his mouth, his tongue, to speak. His voice was thick and affected. “I…” God, why was it so hard to say what he wanted? Didn’t Miles want it too? He was holding his hand the same way Alex held Miles’ hand, was he not? His breathing was as ragged. His body as aware, no doubt.

“What?” Just as his own, Miles’ voice was jittery. Shaken. Insecure.

“Is it…” He took a pause. Steadied his thoughts, prearranged the words he wanted to speak. “Is it weird what we’re doing? Not weird, no. That’s the wrong word,” he said to himself.

“It’s…” A shiver did a bad job at hiding in Miles’ voice. “It’s not weird, no. It’s…”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

He kept holding his hand. He couldn’t say how much time passed until he fell asleep. That was, he couldn’t say it in terms of time as everyone knew it. He could say that five times, their thumbs had touched. His breath had hitched inside his throat two times. He’d swallowed once.

He’d slept better than he’d ever done before.

**#2018**

“Look at ‘em,” whispered Miles, leaning in, lips almost brushing the shell of Alex’s ear, an ear that was dying for some lips-brushing action. “They’re bloody arguing over coffee!” Miles’ arm, wedged against Alex’s, shifted and his hand pointed at the tiffing couple by the counter. “Poor fella. She looks tough! Like she’s about to rip his head off!”

In the back of the Starbucks around the corner near Miles’ apartment, next to each other on a bench, Alex twisted his head to the side with care, to hush back with a titter, but to keep from inviting space. “Think it’s a sign of a good relationship to argue over coffee? Or is the end near?”

“Depends on the argument,” supposed Miles and lowered his head to hide a laugh. “Is it about the size, the content, or a greater issue?”

“A greater issue?” Alex liked the potential of this picture painted in caffeine. Cheeks rubbed another. The hairs on his body jumped to their feet. A violent wave of alertness washed over him. “Like coffee is the stand-in for…”

“An affair, maybe?” Eyes gleamed as he whispered on, one eye on the couple. “They were both strapping black espressos when they met, full of energy and no sugar. But he got greedy and after the first rush of their stimulated blood died down, she settled for herbal tea and he went on the prowl for a premium hot chocolate with extra cream. It was a dangerous choice, but the sweet concoction had him on the hook.”

“A man of fine taste! He’s lookin’ for me, then?” Alex raised his cup of chocolate and bent his lips, his grin turning wide. “Shall I go over and introduce myself?”

“Don’t you dare,” warned Miles, biting his lips to keep the smile from spilling over his face. One hand reached over to curl around his thigh. “You’re my chocolate today.”

A cackle sprung free from his delighted face. “You did pay for me!”

Two weeks had gone by and they’d somehow fallen into the habit of meeting for coffee every morning. The first one had been a short affair. A few minutes of walking from Miles’ place to here, then the order, topped off by a text from Daniel that had sent Miles rushing to him.

The morning after that, there’d been no call. Alex, knowing and giving zero fucks that it bordered on questionable behavior, had texted Miles, having gotten his number from Matt, under the pretext of finding out if all was well or if Daniel had minded that they’d gone for coffee.

Miles had replied that Daniel didn’t need to know. It had been coffee. A few minutes, none more.

_‘Where’s he now?’_ Alex had written back.

_‘Work.’_

Five minutes later, he’d knocked on Miles’ door. He couldn’t even say why he’d hurried over. He hadn’t forgiven him. There was so much left to say. There was so much he wanted to yell at his face after he’d been forced to keep it bottled in for all those years since school. But the thought of Miles being alone and free and available had blocked out all else and dashed to him he had.

He wished he could say it was to rebuild a battered, broken friendship. But lying to himself was a waste of energy. The second he saw Miles, he was seventeen again, longing for a kiss and fantasizing about much dirtier actions. Miles wasn’t single. He was in a relationship. And Alex had a rule about that stuff. Not the ‘It’s wrong and you don’t do it’-kind of rule. More the ‘It’s messy and not worth it’-kind of rule.

Only…Miles wasn’t just anybody.

He was _Miles_.

Alex understood it was bad if something were to happen.

And chaotic. And morally apprehensive. And fucking insane, considering he’d yet to forgive him for the last time!

None of that had stopped him so far.

On the third day, the coffee had become an extended walk. Thirty minutes.

Day four. A short trip to the supermarket. Coffee afterward. An hour.

Day five. Coffee to go became two coffees and two hot chocolates in a corner booth.

By day seven they were at two hours.

Yesterday, they’d gone for lunch afterward.

Alex scooted closer, despite the fact that scooting closer wasn’t possible. He hid his face by turning it away, nearly burying it into Miles’ madly inviting shoulder. “They’re looking at us. Think they heard us?”

“Possible. Maybe they recognized you!” Miles’ words filled with glee. The hand he’d put on Alex's thigh traveled further around, their position becoming more entangled. “Imagine the _Daily Mail_ tomorrow: _Alex Turner caught making fun of strangers!_ ”

He sputtered a laugh against Miles’ neck. “ _Alex Turner and Miles Kane caught making fun of strangers!_ ” Between squished bodies, he managed to slap his chest in jest. “Don’t take yourself out of the headline! You started!”

“Details,” giggled Miles, and winced. “Shit, they are coming over!”

“Excuse us,” said the guy, wearing the tell-tale smile of _‘I’m gonna ask you for a favor’._ “You’re Alex Turner and Miles Kane, right? Any chance we might take a picture with you? I’m Max and this is my wife Linda.”

Alex reluctantly detangled from his sweet spot against Miles’ side. Looked up, straightened, and forced out his _‘sure, I’m a celebrity. Of course, I’ll take a picture with you’_ -smile. “Hand me your phone. I’ll take one of you with Miles, then Miles can do the same with us.”

Miles got up, did his smile, sat back down, and took the phone from Alex.

Alex got up, did the same, nodded. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks. One with both of you…?”

Alex’s smile got terse, became a _‘don’t push it’_.

“Alright. Thanks again.” They left.

These things always ended up on social media. Alex knew, even if he didn’t understand social media in itself. Or, rather, didn’t care to understand it. And he didn’t need to say out loud or mention at all that being in one picture with Miles would be much harder for the latter to explain to his boyfriend than to explain why he’d been caught in a pic in the same place Alex was caught on camera.

Miles hadn’t protested, and by agreeing to it he’d silently admitted to it, underscored how both were cautious and sentient of their shadowy actions.

“We should go,” urged Miles. “That thing just caught the attention of others.”

Alex saw the next one getting up and preparing to come over. “Yeah. It’s late anyway and…” He grabbed his jacket. Put it on. “Daniel must wonder where you are. It’s his day off, isn’t it?”

“Told him I had a meeting.”

“A meeting,” he teased, pleased by the fact that Miles had decided to keep his get-togethers with him a secret. These weren’t innocent run-ins, then. Or harmless coffees. Else he’d have told his boyfriend. Alex poked his shoulder impishly. “How professional you make me sound.”

Miles cast his gaze to the floor as his voice dropped to the same level. “I’ve never seen your place.”

The air left his lungs at once. His place? The one where he lived alone? The one Miles was suggesting they go to even though his boyfriend was at home? The place with no other people to keep ‘em from doing something thoroughly stupid? Alex cringed. The one he hadn’t cleaned up in a while? “Er…sure,” he murmured sheepishly and scratched his jaw, not only ignoring better judgment but stuffing it into a trash bag and tossing it into the bin. “Consider yourself warned. It’s messy.”

“I saw your room growing up.” He chuckled and that took away some of the apprehension he displayed. He, too, knew what a dumb idea this was. To part from witnesses and be alone. To dive heedlessly into danger. Dumb times ten. Alluring, also. “Can’t be worse than that!”

“Warned you!”

Miles’ jaw hit the ground. “Is there an instrument you don’t have?”

“Cello?” Alex scuttled for the couch, plucked two socks and an open journal from it, wondering which of the many items strewn everywhere he was most concerned about, unpublished lyrics or dirty clothes? Everyone had unwashed shirts.

The lyrics were… _precarious_.

“Here’s where the masterpieces come to life, huh?” Miles flung his jacket onto a chair. “Much like my place. Open and wide. Love the high ceilings.” Whereas Alex had taken in the entire place, Miles immediately became conscious of the piano in the corner and he walked there. “Your last album, you wrote it on the piano. On this one?” The tip of his finger danced idly over the faded wood.

Alex stopped his hasty attempt of a clean-up. “How do you know?” Had he told anybody in an interview? The tunes were full of guitars and drums and—

Miles faced him and smiled, biting his bottom lip with shyness. Alex’s mind blanked. “You can hear it. The songs fall different than the ones before. The underlying melodies are softer. Much more introverted. As though you’ve gone off to wander inside your head and took your time.”

“Nobody else caught that,” he admitted, barely speaking loud enough for himself to hear. Alex’s thoughts landed on the journal he held inside his hands, on the seventeen songs he’d pre-chosen to play for his band, from which they all would then pick the eleven that would make the new album. Seventeen pages whose corners he’d folded. He wanted to show him, now. He wanted to play those songs to him and hear his verdict. His opinion had always been the one he’d been most keen on. His band members decided what would define the album, they and he would discuss what fit their style, their talents, their tastes. But Miles never told him if a song was good or bad or stood the chance at success. His was a different ruling.

“I can hear your heart in that one,” he’d once told him. A long time ago. “The words…you didn’t make ‘em up. This isn’t a story. It’s a piece of you.”

The song he’d spoken of, he’d written it for him.

Miles sat down by the piano. Hit a key. Then another one. “Fine one.”

“Gift from Richard, from when I turned thirty.”

Another chord. The F-chord.

Alex made his way over to him, tossing socks and journal away as he did. In the end, who was he trying to fool? Miles had already seen the chaos. What need was there to hide it now? And the journal? All the secrets it held, were they really secrets at all? Wasn’t his lonely heart a sight for everyone to see? All those nagging questions which kept his mind busy in the hours in which he was by himself, were they truly clandestine questions? Or just ones he hadn’t dared to ask out loud yet? “Richard feels bad for what he’s done. He told me. But what has he done? You told me what Andy has done.” Alex supposed there was more. There was a sickening undercurrent inside of him, a foreboding that he hadn’t yet heard the worst. Would he ever hear it? Would knowing what his manager had done reveal another clue? “What did Richard do?”

“Believed him.”

“As his father-in-law, is that so surprising?” He reached his side and sat down next to him on a bench made for one. Miles didn’t hesitate to free room for him. Withdrew his hands. Arms aligned. “I’m not making excuses,” Alex promised him. “I don’t even know what to excuse. What it is about.”

“He came after my record deal.” Eyes remained on the keys. “My contract was up for renegotiation. Richard knew someone from the label. Played golf with him. Told him I’d be a bad investment going forward. And that, if my label had an interest in a good deal, they should call Andy.”

Alex couldn’t believe it. Richard would do something so shitty? Was he that manipulative?

“The guy he played golf with was my manager. He’s also a friend. Told Richard to shove it. Ever since then, Richard has been trying to score a deal for Andy with your label. Never managed.”

Silence ticked quietly by. “So, it was that,” concluded Alex after a while and summarized tranquilly what he’d unearthed thus far. “It was a guy spreading rumors and setting the stage for others to join in. It was the wish to leave the band and face the crowd on your own. It was not knowing how to handle a nasty remark from a guy you’d at that point believed you’d never see again.”

Miles shifted, searching for his eyes, letting melancholy fill his voice. “You make it sound so trivial. As if I’d given up on something great for no good reason at all.”

Alex met his. “That wasn’t my intention,” he swore. “Knowing all that, I think I even understand why you left the band. I get that you wanted to prove to yourself and to the world that you could do it on your own. I even get why you wanted to leave town, start over.” But the heartbroken kid in him only cared to know one thing: “Why did you leave me?”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Miles’ lips twitched into the saddest smile Alex had ever seen. “What we had? I wasn’t ready for that. The kind of dreams you made me dream, you don’t dream ‘em at seventeen. I was overwhelmed. I got scared.”

Miles’ fingertips flew over the ivory keys and for a few seconds, Alex was completely distracted from the conversation. Instead, he followed the tune as it grew into a longer melody. He’d never heard it before and he knew almost everything, from all the songs making Miles’ music catalog to most of the tunes that were out there. Was this a new song of Miles’? Had he come up with it before? Was he coming up with it now?

The playing stopped and Miles ceased to press the keys. Instead, he traced them with precaution, as if afraid of their power. “As you grow older, you learn that the one worth going all-in for is somebody not everyone gets to meet. You learn that it’s rare. That it’s a gift. That you’re supposed to hold on and know to hold on. When I met you, I knew none of that. I loved you at a time when I didn’t know how to love right. I loved you more than you will ever understand. It was that big. And maybe there’s a kid out there who is smarter than I am. No doubt there is. Somebody who knows even at seventeen that the big thing only happens once and that you don’t get a second chance. Somebody who knows how to do it right. But I didn’t. And because of that, I broke your heart.” His fingers stilled. “What I told you the other day, that I didn’t know I could break your heart? It’s not a defense, Alex. I honestly believed you’d forget me soon enough. Maybe not as a friend. But as…as something more. I’m so sorry.”

Speechless didn’t begin to describe what Alex was.

He sat on the small bench in front of the piano, acutely aware of the entire right flank of Miles’ body which was in line with his left one, of the warmth spreading from him and darting all the way into his own heart, a muscle he’d at times feared to be frozen solid. He’d been his big one? Miles had loved him that much?

_Had_ loved?

Was it over? A spell of panic overcame him. He spoke of a second chance, but of one that didn’t exist. Did he hope for a second chance with him or had he given up? Did Miles want to try again? Did Alex dare to believe that? Would he even want to? Or was Miles speaking in broader terms? Had he decided to give his heart to Daniel thinking Alex didn’t want it anymore? Did Miles understand, now, that Alex had loved him? That he’d truly, deeply loved him? Did it make a difference?

Miles closed the lid to the keys, the dull thud of it a rude arm which yanked Alex from the thoughts he’d have preferred to get lost in. “It’s late. I should go.”

“It’s noon, not midnight,” Alex heard himself say. “Late doesn’t begin for a while.”

“If it’s not late, then maybe it’s the right time to leave.”

He tried again. “Or maybe it’s too early and you should stay.” On the lid, Miles’ hands rested. Alex raised his left one, put it next to his. Their little fingers touched.

“For that,” gasped Miles, inhaling harshly whilst withdrawing his hand, “it’s too late.”

**#2003**

“It’s late. I should go.” The sun had set nearly two hours ago. The thunderstorm from earlier had passed and the night had turned clear, cleansing the world, or Sheffield, from the tiresome heat of the day. Miles got up from the floor, letting go of his acoustic, and stepped up to the window of Alex’s room, inhaling deeply. “I love the smell.”

“Of night?” asked Alex, following his lead and joining him in front of it.

“Of the air after a thunderstorm. It’s fresh and new and full of possibilities. Like all the bad things that happened during the day have been washed away.”

“What bad things happened to you today?” He eyed him in case Miles would lie and Alex would have to call him out on it.

Miles didn’t say. Alex zeroed in on possible signs of deflection as his friend leaned away and grabbed his bag. He didn’t have to try hard. Miles was fairly blunt in his changing of the topic. “Tomorrow is Saturday. Want to meet up early? I think the garage needs some serious cleaning up. And it stinks of onion rings.”

Alex grabbed his shoulder, made him face back around. “Miles…you didn’t answer.”

“’bout what?”

“Did something happen?”

“To whom?”

“You!” He could strangle him when he was like this. Alex couldn’t figure out if he moved on from topics at the speed of lighting because he was done with them, or if he drew a perverse satisfaction from having Alex dig for details! “You said rain washes bad shit away. What bad shit?”

“Ignore me.”

“No.” Thinking back, he’d been quiet after English. “Did you get into a fight with somebody?”

“What? No.”

He didn’t believe him. “During English, maybe?”

Miles’ jaw spasmed. If he were drug sniffing dog, Alex would waggle his tail and start barking. “Who said what during English?”

“Nobody said anything,” he cut him off. “Forget it.”

“I can ask my mom if she caught you talking to somebody!”

“Oh, that’s low, Alex!”

“Then tell me!”

He glared at him, a stare-off. But Alex was determined, and he could tell that Miles was tired and therefore not up for a prolonged back and forth. His friend groaned. Victory. “Angie made a comment ‘bout our date night and—”

“The one months ago?”

“That’s what she said. Basically. She said it’s weird I haven’t gone out on a date in months. She’s got a point, you know? This girl from French asked me out the other day and I told her no but I couldn’t—”

“Couldn’t what,” drilled Alex, getting fed up with the morsel-sized bits of information he had to shovel for. “Bloody spill!”

“I couldn’t tell her why I didn’t want to go out with her!”

“’cause she’s…” Alex drew blanks. “Not so pretty, maybe? Or has bad breath? Or lacks humor? Saying ‘no’ to a girl is tough.” He knew. He’d done it plenty of times in recent months. Always making up excuses, never admitting that the real reason he didn’t want to was that he had that strikingly persistent crush on Miles and— His heart started drumming at a frantic beat. His probing words became shy whispers. “What’s the reason you don’t want to go out with her?”

“You, too?” Miles returned to the bed, to the guitar leaning against it. “Don’t know. No spark, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I guess!”

“Guess harder!”

“Need another fucking thunderstorm,” muttered Miles. “Don’t know,” he snapped and put the guitar into the bag. “As I said, I have to go.”

“ _Should_ go, is what you said. Not have to. Should. Do you know that when people say they should do something they don’t really want to do it? They lack the balls to admit it. They want the other one to beg ‘em to do the opposite. You want me to beg, is that it?”

_Shit_! Alex winced. Bit his lip. That might have come out a tad strong.

Miles pinned him down with a stare, mouth hanging open. “Excuse me?”

It definitely had.

Alex smiled feebly. “Well, do you?”

“ _‘I should go’_ is a figure of speech. Or something. A lame line one says. And as for opposites, the opposite to ‘should go’ is not only ‘should stay’ but also ‘fuck off and get lost, you _have_ to go.’ What’s it you want to beg for?”

At this point, Alex honestly couldn’t say. He let out a huff of exasperation, instead.

“Night, Al.”

“Stay,” he blurted. Rolled his eyes. Fine, he _could_ say. “If you want to meet up early tomorrow, you might as well stay the bloody night. That way, we can go straight to the garage in the morning.”

Miles dragged his feet, mumbling, “I don’t have a spare shirt or anything with me.”

He scoffed hard. “Suddenly you care ‘bout that? Wanna bet there’s a shirt of yours in my closet from all the times we borrowed each other’s shit?” Alex shook his head, kicked his sneakers off, and then went for the hem of his tee, annoyed that things were different now despite his efforts to act normal, whatever normal was. Sometimes, Miles had no problems staying the night, and then there were times like this one. When everything was a big deal instead of just another sleepover. “I’m headed for sleep. Stay or not.” He tossed the cotton, went for the jeans, roughed ‘em down. “Gonna get something to drink, then brush my teeth. Your spare toothbrush is still in the bathroom,” he snapped, unable to keep from hurling some attitude Miles’ way. “Can’t argue with that excuse, in cased you planned on.”

By the time he arrived in the bathroom, Miles was already done.

He returned to his room and was equal parts dumbfounded and glad to find Miles curled beneath the covers. Good, he’d stay. Here. In his bed. A bed he’d never shared with any other friend. Not even with his best friends. But he’d immediately shared it with Miles. Lately, all those strange little singularities popped up inside his head, pointing finger after finger at the endless list of ways in which Miles was a unique figure in his life.

It fascinated him how different things were when he did them with others, and how outstanding those became when he did them with Miles.

Sleeping, for example.

The few times he’d stayed over at a girl’s place after doing it, he’d made sure to set everything straight from the beginning. No cuddling. No snuggling. No endless talks. No schmoozing. With Miles, he’d never lived through a moment in which they’d done something he hadn’t enjoyed in one way or other. And the notion of saying no to something for the sole purpose of it not happening had never crossed his mind. He was the first guy he’d ever shared a bed with. He’d never suggested placing pillows between them or even doing so much as mentioning if just as a joke to keep their hands to themselves.

“Get in or not,” grumbled Miles from inside the bed. “Staring at me freaks me out.” He pulled the cover farther around his shoulders.

Alex snorted. “It’s a million fucking degrees tonight. Gonna sweat like crazy if you stay like that, you know that!”

“So?”

He got in and bit back a comeback. “Will you share the blanket with me?”

Nothing.

“Be a stubborn mule, then!” Alex rolled onto his side, flung his leg over Miles’, slung his arm over his bedfellow’s middle – one he could only assume was somewhere between that heap of a blanket around him – and curled up.

“What the—” Miles writhed. “Are you fucking insane? Want me to cook to death?”

“Oh hey, it lives,” he mocked.

Miles let go of the cover. Alex tore half of it away. Instead of slipping beneath, he bunched it away and resumed his spot against Miles’ back, much to his friend’s grunt of protest. “Suck it up,” murmured Alex, well on his way to snoozing off. “You have my pillow. I’ll make do with you. Night.”

Minutes passed and Alex was sure Miles had fallen asleep by now, if for no other reason than to spite him. But he hadn’t. Beneath a layer of fabric, a small voice emerged. “It’s not that I don’t want to stay over.”

He tightened his grip on him. It happened so fast, so nonchalantly, that even Alex was stunned by his own move. He wedged his chin into the bedding-stuffed curve of Miles’ shoulder. “What is it, then?”

“Tell me you don’t find this weird,” begged Miles. “Tell me. Lie to me and say we’re normal friends.”

“We’re not,” proclaimed Alex into the darkness, not missing a beat. “Who wants to be normal when this is an option?” He had normal friends. Great friends. But what he had with Miles? That was something special and it meant the world to him. “It’s like we can read each other’s minds at times. I can tell you everything and you can tell me everything. And,” he added, his voice falling into a low whisper, “I like holding you. Is it bothering you that I am? Say it and I let go. It’s okay if—”

“Don’t,” blurted Miles quickly.

For a while, silence returned. Until Miles began to shift and move. “’s getting warm,” he conceded sheepishly, pulling himself free of the bedding.

Alex raised his arm, granted him the space to find a comfortable position, one removed of suffocating heat. Only, when it was done, he didn’t know what to do. Should he retreat? Roll away, onto his back? Return and resume?

Miles offered him an answer. “You can put your arm back. Like, if you want to.”

“Okay.” Careful this time around, now that he moved not out of stubbornness but with tenderness, he placed his hand against Miles’ waist and took a deep breath as the touch burnt itself into his palm. Beneath him, he sensed Miles’ body growing tense for a moment. Then, one traipsing finger at a time, he intensified it the touch. And little by little, both relaxed into it. Until, a moment, his hand came to a final rest against his friend’s stomach. Alex inclined his head. His forehead fell against Miles’ nape. Eyes closed. He was asleep before he knew it.

**#2018**

“I absolutely should go.” Miles got off the bench and didn’t pause or look at Alex, instead aimed for his jacket as if on the run from something. Or somebody.

“You don’t _‘absolutely should’_ do anything. You either _have_ to do something or you _should_ do something, and you know how I feel about the latter.” Alex squinted. For a second he swore he saw a shadow of a smirk crossing Miles’ face.

“I _need_ to leave,” declared Miles, jacket on, and grabbed the door’s handle. “Thanks for letting me see your place.” By now, he wore a full-blown grin. The kind that stirred Alex’s x-rated imagination into overdrive. “You should tidy up someday.”

Until that landed. “Gee, thanks mom!”

The door opened.

Alex strode forward. Urgency befell him. His time with Miles was coming to an end. There was so much he’d wanted to tell him. Gossip he’d wanted to share. Jokes he’d wanted to make. “Tomorrow? Same time?”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

He frowned. “Yes?” Had Miles an appointment that he’d told him about? Was he busy tomorrow? Was Daniel interfering, laying claim to Miles’ free time? If tomorrow was no option, why not stay longer today?

“I need to sleep in tomorrow. And you should, too. You absolutely should!” The smile turned sly. “And that’s that the right way to say it. Jamie’s bachelor party is tomorrow night. Did you forget? That’s gonna be a long night.”

“The…” Damnit, he had forgotten about it. He’d get to spend the night with him, tomorrow? What a prospect! What was that inside his stomach? A butterfly? More like a flying pterodactyl. He held his abdomen, squished it, tried to smother the fucking dinosaur. “Yeah! Uh…see you tomorrow night, then!”

“Count on it.” Miles left with a parting wave of his hand.

Alex closed the door behind him, turned back to face his apartment, the mess of it, and pursed his lips in consideration. _Damn it to hell, I got to nothing to wear!_ It’d be the first night out with Miles in years. Sure, to be precise, it was a bachelor party. A party where plenty of people would be. And he wouldn’t be out _with_ Miles. However, Miles would be there. There’d be drinking. It was a bachelor party. Therefore, all sorts of dirty stuff could take place. With Miles. It’d be a night of rotten behavior. Of wild partying. Debauchery. Depravity. Decadence! Stuff was bound to happen! _With Miles_!

He reached for his keys, realized he still wore his jacket, and hurried out. He definitely needed a new shirt. And a pair of pants that would serve some fine looks. Oh, he might as well buy a whole new outfit. Or two!

.

.

** Spoiler Chapter 13 Part 1: **

# 2018

Reaching the group of others, exchanging general greetings, Miles plucked one of the many prepared drinks from the table and clinked the glass against Alex’s stolen bottle of beer. “To being unmarried!”

_To being single_ , Alex wanted to add. _Damnit._ “To being unmarried!” Then again, what was a boyfriend, after all? No ring, no promise, no oath to keep. He smiled to himself and his good mood swelled back to life. His gaze crawled over the sublime silhouette of Miles’ body. He returned the beer and reached for the bottle of tequila. “Let’s get this thing started!”

# 2018

“We met every single day for the last two weeks,” noted Alex, holding his gaze. Confusion filled his tone. “Doesn’t that tell you something?”

An almost invisible shrug rolled from Miles’ shoulders. “Tells me we enjoy catchin’ up.”

Recognizing the old pattern, he shook his head. “You’re still doing it.” The surroundings had vanished. The noises he no longer heard. It was just him and Miles, huddled together. “You still convince yourself that what I’m telling you means less than what it does.”

# 2003

Alex moved the guitar out of his lap. “You can do that.”

“Do what,” exhaled Miles, devoid of sound.

“Make my mind go blank.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Sometimes,” confessed Alex, only to smile ever so cheekily. “Makes me do silly things, things I wouldn’t do if my thoughts persisted.”

“Like what?”

The smile vanished. “This.”

#


	13. Drunk

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**The song is 'Forever Young' by _Alphaville._ All rights belong to their owners.**

**#2003**

**#Alex**

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived. It was close to midnight and he, Miles, and the rest of the band had decided to pay it a visit. After all, today had been the last day of school before summer break and that demanded a proper celebration. But they'd started the celebration early by finishing off an entire bottle of Rum after band practice and – since they were no longer the invincible sixteen-year-olds of 2002, but riper seventeen-year-olds – they'd all fallen asleep afterward. The liquor had conked them out. Completely. A more shameful thing had never happened to him in his life. It had been a mortifying wake-up call for Alex. He was getting old!

It was July, the garage was hot and sweaty, and far from clean, and because of that, by the time they'd woken up, all had been in need of some peppermint. Or an extended teeth-brushing session, a shower, and a new set of clothes.

Which led to their entrance being this late.

“Hey,” yelled some guy from afar. “The band has arrived.”

“Guests only,” declared Alex in his forever booming voice, loud and clear to quell all other bids to get them to perform. As much as he loved playing, tonight was all about appreciating. Offstage. And the bloody rum still stuck to his veins, weighing him down with fatigue. Maybe he’d reached an age where he should stick to tequila and vodka and leave the dark stuff for the young ones?

Next to him, Miles nudged his arm. “Nice house. Check out the sound system!”

Alex laughed. Leave it to Miles to notice that one first. “Belongs to some kid whose father is a lawyer. Wanna bet he's getting into trouble for this party?” He spotted the bar. “Let’s make it count.” His arm curled around Miles' neck, hooking him in, and he maneuvered them through the crowd of students and strangers with ease. Here and there, a wayward stare or a curious look landed their way. He ignored them all as he aimed for the large table where all sorts of liquor and other stuff was displayed. “What's it gonna be tonight?” A brow shot up with dread. “Wanna keep with the rum?”

“And fall right back asleep?” Miles shook his head. His fingers wrapped around a can of Red Bull, which he poured into two cups. Half each. The remaining space, he filled up with Vodka. “To waking up,” he toasted, handing Alex one of the drinks.

His response was an embarrassed grin. “I'm just glad I'm not the only one who dropped dead.”

“Gettin' old is no fun,” Miles judged harshly, his expression grim at the prospect.

Alex agreed downright. At times, he missed being sixteen. However, “You're younger than me!”

“In numbers, yes,” allowed Miles, taking the tiniest sip Alex had ever seen anyone take. “But I'm wise beyond my years.”

“Oh yeah! You’re bloody Aristotle!”

He stuck out his tongue.

Between them, Jamie popped up. “Miles, come here.” He wedged his arm past Alex’s neck, snatching Miles’ attention from him, and took over the spot around Miles’ shoulders. “See the tall one over there?” An arm stretched beyond him, pointing at a girl. “Blond hair, short skirt? Just asked me 'bout you! Care for an introduction?”

Although he saw that Miles was ready to reply, Alex took it upon himself to supply the answer. “Nope.” He gave the arm a nudge and made it drop. “No skirts tonight. Just fun and drinks.”

“Have you looked at her?” Jamie gaped. “I'd like to hear it from Miles.”

Miles edged up to Alex, head moving from left to right. “No skirts.”

Alex, vindicated, tilted his chin up. “Hear?” Tonight, he'd belong to him. Summer break was tricky. He and Miles would be busy. Their parents required a lot of attention. Plenty of projects awaited them. Home improvement. Garden work. Visiting relatives. Each had their own vacation planned. For as long as it was possible, Alex planned on hogging Miles' time. Especially tonight.

Even if it weren't for all that, lately, his relationship with Miles was becoming… _distinctive_ …in a sense. More unique than it already was. Miles had stopped dating, and so had Alex. Neither one lost a word about it. It was a fact that existed only in the background. Much in the same way that they sometimes held hands at night, or even each other, without ever mentioning it the next day. As though not discussing it made it a thing that only lived in the twilight. A monster that couldn’t strike when the sun was bright. On the other hand, because of that, it was something that brought with it more questions than it held answers.

And Miles, who switched from eager participant to hesitant bystander at a rate that left Alex dizzy at moments, did nothing to put his tangled thoughts at rest. Like today. On a scale of one to ten, where one equaled the affection one might give a kind stranger and ten the love one gave one’s partner after a long period of absence, the way Miles' hand gripped his waist, possessive and firm and with an unbending demand for more, came in at a scorching twelve.

Not that Alex minded.

On the contrary.

The problem was it wouldn't stay at that level. That, he knew for sure and from experience. Only the reason for this never-ending up and down he’d yet to discern. There was no roadmap to decipher when and why Miles would pull on the reigns and retreat into his shell.

“Again,” reiterated the perplexed guitarist, refusing to give up. “Hot chick! In short skirt! Available!”

Miles laughed. “Then go for her! Try your luck! ‘m gonna stick to this one tonight.” His arm curled around Alex’s waist, giving him a squeeze.

Scratch twelve. It was a fifteen. At least. Alex beamed, pressed his hips against Miles’ which such verve that he felt the contours of his bones against his own, and took a big swig of his drink. Only to cough. “Fuck, Miles. That’s strong!” Even worse than the damned rum. And the Red Bull gave it its own special twist. Two of those and he’d be a mess!

Taking some of his own, Miles, too, coughed. Only to drink more. “Good, eh!”

Jamie walked away, heading straight for the pretty blond. Swiveling around to observe the scene, Miles rushed his lips to Alex’s ear. “Ten bucks say she’s giving him the boot.”

“Why?” Alex bit back a moan as hot breath from Miles’ mouth crashed against his skin, laying waste to this already broken oath to himself to stay at a reasonable and platonic distance. Fingers tightened into the fabric of Miles’ shirt. “Jamie’s a chick-magnet. Every girl falls for him!”

Mischief bloomed on Miles’ face. The wide stretch of his lips wasn’t visible to him, but Alex felt it against his cheek. “Name’s Brenda. The one in the short skirt. Remember the bird Jamie broke up with last month?”

He gave a jerky nod, trying to keep up with the story. It was hard. This nearness was distracting in the worst of ways. The urge to run his fingers over Miles’ back was intense. Damn all those students around them!

“She’s Brenda’s sister.”

That yanked him from his yearnings. Alex stared. “No way! Does he know?”

“If he does,” Miles spoke with a snort, “he’s got balls to try anyway.”

“At this rate, Jamie will need to move soon. He’ll be through the entire female population of Sheffield before he turns eighteen!” As Alex said it, Miles chuckled. Straight into his ear. His knees buckled. He drank more to cool his body down.

Tapping his cup against Alex’s, Miles drank as well. Only to pause and sharpen his focus. “Oh, look. It’s gettin’ interesting. She stopped smiling!”

“Twenty on Jamie. He’ll get her anyway!” Alex twisted his head with a challenge on his features. They stood so close their noses nearly touched. “I got faith in my guitarist!”

“I hold that bet!”

They resumed watching.

The glower on the girl’s face lessened, became a timid smile.

Miles grew terse. “Oh no.”

Alex nodded. “Wait for it…”

Her hand darted out, touched Jamie’s shoulder. A flamboyant giggle wafted from her. The flirty sort.

“Twenty bucks,” exclaimed Alex victoriously and loud enough for others to hear. From afar, Jamie tossed a frown over his shoulder. Alex waved back, nodded, gave a thumbs up.

Miles cackled when the girl, watching warily, went from touching Jamie’s shoulder to hitting Jamie’s shoulder only to storm off with dramatic flair.

“Twenty bucks,” burst Miles, gave Jamie a thumbs-up as well, and wheezed at Alex’s faltering figure, one he was mashed against. “Thanks for helping me win, babe!”

 _Babe_.

Alex forgot about the bet, the Vodka in his hand, which he drank as if it were water, or the burning in the back of his throat, which merely served as a reminder that he was still alive and earthbound and not lost flying in circles around cloud nine.

 _Babe_.

In his head, he let the word roll from his tongue in silence, played with it, tried it on, and found it so damned comfortable to wear that he’d trade his favorite leather jacket for it in a heartbeat.

 _Babe_.

“What’s with that grin on your face?” asked Miles, sporting one just like that.

“Oh, just in a good mood,” he told him, tapped their cups together, then marvel at the fact that both cups were empty. “Time for a refill!”

**#2018**

**#Alex**

“What’s happening?”

“Hey…” Alex shifted on his feet, dimly aware that his voice was breathless and that he sounded dazed and probably beyond stupid, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. In front of him stood Miles, gorgeous Miles, in snug black jeans, a fitted black tee, and the best tailored blazer he’d ever seen anyone wear. He also wore a belt. Black, too. That color was made for him. It made him look so fucking sexy and oddly enough even dangerous. _Oh, well_ , he thought with wry amusement. _He’s quite a danger to my heart, is he not?_ The two-centimeter-wide strap of leather, locked tied by a minimalistic silver buckle, accentuated the fit run of his body in ways that caught Alex not only off-guard but also attacked his best intentions with the might of the entire Spanish armada in its glory days.

The corner of Miles’ mouth jumped with concealed delight as he rubbed his flat hands over his thighs, a move that made his upper body flex and stretch in mouthwatering ways. Alex licked his lips.

Long gone were the moments when the sight of Alex’s blatant interest unrattled Miles. These days, he welcomed it. His face brightened with a giant smile he could no longer suppress. “Hi.”

“Again, what’s happening?”

Miles’ hand scooted out. Unsolicited, yet no less welcome, his index finger pursued the path of the zipper of Alex’s new leather jacket all the way from the neck to the bottom, the speed so reduced and torturous that Alex drilled his teeth into his tongue to keep from moaning. “Nice jacket.”

He stood transfixed and shrugged as his mouth hooked up. “New,” he heard himself admitting. _Fuck_ , he came across like some infatuated kid! What a dumb thing to say that was. Lame! Laughable! For fuck’s sake, he was so good at flirting, he could make grandmothers blush and hookers giggle! But now? His brain was short on blood supply and the few parts of it that did work were busy, stuck contemplating if having gone for his new tight jeans had been such a wise idea. The fabric gave next to nothing. Which came in handy at the moment as there was a rebellious cock straining behind the zipper, trying to smite it. The jeans didn’t bulge as much as trousers would have done. On the other hand, it was bloody uncomfortable.

Matt pounded a fist against his shoulder.

Alex snapped his head toward him; his tone was ripe with aggravation. “What the fuck?”

“ _What_ is _happening_?!”

“What? Where’s…huh?!” Alex heaved with annoyance. Didn’t Matt see that he was busy indulging in some horny fantasies that included Miles and a torn black shirt? “What’s it you’re talkin’ bout?”

“You and Miles,” grilled Matt, a finger swinging back and forth between them. “Last time I saw both of you, you were a dick to Daniel and Miles was two seconds away from strangling you!” He glanced over his shoulder to check on the others. Nick, Jamie, and a few more friends all chatted merrily in the back of the strip club Matt had rented. That seemed to ease him. “I came over to warn you!”

“Warn us?” Miles, no longer admiring Alex’s well and long deliberated outfit to the latter’s great disappointment, lobbed a confused mien at Matt. “‘bout what?”

“Not to start a fight! Seems pointless now,” concluded the drummer and shook his head. He took a sip from the bottle of beer in his hand. “What happened? Did you fuck and make up? God, I hope not! Don’t know if I can handle the two-point-o version of you.”

At that, Miles let out a bark of laughter, spun Matt around, and flung his arm around his shoulders. “Fuck?” He grinned at Alex, playful and full of mirth as though the mere idea was the funniest thing in the world. “Has he always been this into our sex life or is that a new thing?”

Alex seized the beer from Matt’s protesting hand, took a worthy swig to swallow his frustration about their moment being cut short, and rolled his eyes. “Must be a lack of sex in his own life.”

“Hey, I’m married,” he countered.

Miles patted his back. “That’s the worst thing that can happen to a guy!” Reaching the group of others, exchanging general greetings, he plucked one of the many prepared drinks from the table and clinked the glass against Alex’s stolen bottle of beer. “To being unmarried!”

 _To being single_ , Alex wanted to add. _Damnit._ “To being unmarried!” Then again, what was a boyfriend, after all? No ring, no promise, no oath to keep. He smiled to himself and his good mood bloomed back to life. His gaze crawled over the sublime silhouette of Miles’ body. He returned the beer and reached for the bottle of tequila. “Let’s get this thing started!”

**#2003**

**#Alex**

“This is some fancy house,” awed Miles as he walked through the large hallway connecting the open living space and the marble-topped kitchen with the cinema room in which the couples had retreated for some fierce making out and two guest rooms, both with notes tapped to their doors reading “fuck off”.

Next to him, tracing the fine patina of a painting hanging on the wall, Alex shrugged. In the bottom corner, he spotted a name and read it. “This… _Joan Miro_ …ever heard of him? Or her?” He gave the painting his whole attention. “It’s a green rectangle with an orange ball.” A far cry from the _old masters_ his art teacher was so keen on _decoding. “_ I can paint that, too! Think it’s worth some?”

“Not anymore,” joked Miles. “It’s got your fingerprints all over it!”

Alex snatched his hand away. “Oops.” Lips stretched into something impish. The other side of the hallway was made up of large, sliding glass doors. He could see the pool where a bunch of their friends were swimming and hanging out. Everyone but Nick. “What happened to Nick?”

“Guest room number one,” remarked Miles, chin nodding towards one of the doors they had passed.

“Nick?” Alex was shocked. “With whom?”

“Brenda. She flirted with Nick to piss Jamie off. Nick being Nick…well, you know.”

“What a skirt-chasing bunch our band members are, always out looking for some action.” With a sigh, he brought his hand to the small of Miles’ back, stealing a bit of a touch. “When we’ll be famous, we gonna need a rule ‘bout that shit. No groupies or something.”

“Like that’s gonna work!” He aimed for the outside. “Matt’s waving at us.”

Out by the pool, Matt held up two cups with something. “Drinks. Careful, strong,” he warned. “Have you seen Jamie anywhere? Went AWOL. You don’t think he went home to nurse his broken heart, do you?”

Alex took a sip from the drink and wildly sputtered as a consequence. “It’s fucking lethal,” he croaked out. Eyes on Miles, he raised them. “Try.”

Miles snorted, jamming his thumb against Alex’s chest. “You’re such a wuss.” He took a healthy swig, coughed, and enticed laughter from the people around them. “Fuck, what is this shit?”

“Some vodka, some whiskey, some tequila, bit of gin—”

“Trying to kill us?” Grumbling notwithstanding, Miles drank more. This time, it went down easier. His free hand remained against Alex’s chest. Fingers splayed out. “Saw Jamie with the Bronson twins earlier. Maybe they took care of his heart?”

“Or somethin’ else,” Alex supplied. A lounger freed and he sat down, needing the support of it. Standing up while drinking on was no option. He already had too much. Shapes and contours began to blur and at times even Miles doubled into two. His arm shot up to him, grabbing his hand. “Sit down next to me, will ya? All that movin’ round makes my head spin.”

“’m not movin’,” giggled Miles. He sat down, though.

Alex tensed up the second Miles did. What a fucked-up idea that had been. Now, Miles’ thigh was firmly plastered against his own. His body’s heat amplified. And the scent evaporating from his friend blasted the last fragments of clarity straight from his mind. Thirsting, he took another swig and leaned against him for support, arm to arm, shoulder to shoulder. “’tis very hot tonight.” His head dropped to his shoulder.

“Madly so,” nodded Miles, suffering from his own case of too-drunk-to-function-properly. He tried Alex as his provision to sit straight; they ended up both slouched against another. Eyes dark and diluted, lids laboring hard to remain open, Miles pulled his chin down, head tilting, and squinted at him. “Have you always had four eyes?”

Alex’s answer was a drowsy giggle, he wasn’t even sure whether his words were funny or not. “You got two heads!”

Miles touched his head, eyes blinking in confusion. “No, a’ don’t!”

“Yes,” countered Alex. Raised his hand to prove it by dabbing his nose. “One.” Another dab. “Two.”

“Should I call a cab?” From a few feet away, Matt spoke up. He sounded oddly concerned, noted Alex, but lacked the drive to mind.

Moving at a slow pace, Alex faced him. He’d have shaken his head but that required too much concentration. “’s fine. Walk home.”

“Five kilometers?!”

He scrunched his nose and poked Miles’ arm only to cease and wrap his fingers around it. It was hard and strong and he really needed something like that to hold on to. “What’s that in minutes?”

Miles’ forehead furrowed. “A lot?”

“Too many,” said somebody. “Crash here. Plenty of rooms.”

“Let’s find some,” proposed Miles, looking mere seconds away from falling asleep. Straightening up, he shot his arms to both sides, struggling to remain upright.

Alex fisted his shirt and pulled himself up against him. “Walk slow. Feelin’ dizzy.”

“Try the living room,” called a voice from behind, bracketed by laughter and whistles. “There’s couches.”

After a strenuous journey inside, past steps, drunks, and too many hurdles, they found one. He didn’t think they’d landed in the living room. It was small and even in his state of drunkenness he realized it lacked a tv. All living rooms came with tv sets, right? But the room was empty and the couch large. Miles stumbled in and Alex locked the door after. Heavy and sturdy though it was, it did a bad job at drowning out the music which still blared from the outside.

“We have to share,” lamented Miles, taking in the three-seater.

Alex waved a hand, the move almost tossing him off balance. “Take it.” He plopped down onto the floor, onto the shaggy carpet. He didn’t trust the couch. It was high and the way down was steep. “Gon’ sleep right ‘ere.”

**#Alex**

**#2018**

The strip club was packed. Jamie’s friends had all shown up. Roughly thirty people of various ages milled and mingled with a slate of professional dancers. Dancers, assumed Alex, was a fairly nice way to describe their profession. Either they moonlighted as hookers or they were really into his friends. Two booths away, somebody was receiving a lap-dance, one with a certain extra element to it. The telltale noises were unmistakable. By the bar, some girls were batting their fake lashes, smoldering at unprepared guests, offering a kind of pleasure they were not able to refuse.

Against his side, Miles snickered. “Turnin’ into a bloody orgy, this thing.” He and Alex had taken over a nice, comfy booth and stretched out on a curved, velvety bench, shoulder to shoulder, supplying a running commentary on their surroundings. “Check out Nick. He’s as red as a Valentine’s heart. Somebody ought to save him from that girl.”

“I don’t think he wants to be saved.” Alex viewed with growing amusement as his bassist fell prey to a topless brunette who’d her sights set on him. “But he’s got somebody waitin’ for him at home,” he assured Miles and gave his thigh a pat. “Nick appreciates, but he doesn’t touch.”

Miles’ gaze roamed from his thigh up, snaking over the line of his arm all the way ‘til he met his eyes. “And you?”

“Me?” Alex inhaled deeper than before, needing more oxygen than a moment ago. Miles’ attention always had that effect on him.

“You’re single. You should go and amuse yourself. Have a private lap-dance. Find a bird for the night, maybe? Enjoy yourself.” Lids dropped in a feeble attempt to hide his misery at the prospect of losing his company. At least, Alex hoped that’s what it was. Miles dabbed his arm, forcing out a smile. “Don’t have to hang here with little ol’ me.”

The thought of a lap-dance held no appeal over him. Those ladies, talented they no doubt were, were strangers. And he didn’t like strangers when it came to sex. He preferred to have affairs. Even though he scarcely cared for his partners as beings, cold as it sounded, he was a creature of habit and one of learning. He liked knowing what was to come. What to do, what to say to get to where he wanted his encounters to go. How to make it quick if the end was the destination. How to prolong the inevitable if he cared to take joy in the road there.

“Nah. Besides…” Far from sober, lightyears removed from considering the consequences of speaking plainly, Alex shrugged and took a sip from his whiskey. “I never spent time with you because I had to.” The other hand had found a comfortable spot against Miles’ thigh, where it lingered and luxuriated. Everywhere Miles went, he was the most interesting person. The most fascinating sight. “Did I ever tell you that?”

The tiniest shift happened. Miles sank farther against Alex’s side as if lured in by his soft words.

Alex brought his head down and lessened his voice, the message one for hushed tones, not other people’s ears. Against his nose, he felt the soft hairs of Miles’ head tingle his skin. “Don’t think I did. Maybe I should have. Of all the people in the world, you’ve always been my first choice. I thought you knew.”

“I knew when we were friends,” admitted Miles, speaking barely loud enough for Alex to catch it. There was a pause between his words, and it filled with sorrow. “That was then.”

“We met every single day for the last two weeks,” noted Alex, giving up on his sweet spot against his head. He bent to catch his gaze and held on to it as his words carried the confusion that grew inside of him. “Doesn’t that tell you something?”

An almost invisible shrug rolled from Miles’ shoulders. “Tells me we enjoy catchin’ up.”

Recognizing the old pattern, Alex shook his head. “You’re still doing it.” The surroundings had vanished. The noises he no longer heard. It was just him and Miles, huddled together. “You still convince yourself that what I’m telling you means less than what it does.”

“Just sayin’ that…” Miles sagged further against him. “We’re talking ‘bout the past and…”

“And you think when we’re done with that, I’ll go away? Or that I’ll lose interest? We haven’t spoken in fourteen years, we haven’t seen each other in fourteen years, and I haven’t stopped thinking about you once, Miles. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Alex…” For a moment, Miles’ eyelids fell shut. And he when he opened them, the sight was markedly different. Hesitation was still there. Doubt. Unbearable grief. Yet so much affection. Alex couldn’t look away. He wanted to vanquish all that suffering that stared back at him, but he didn’t know how. Fingers squeezed his leg. Miles’ nose skimmed along his cheek. A familiar fever spread inside of him.

“Mi…”

“Can you ever fo—”

“Who has deep conversations in a strip club,” barged Matt’s resounding voice into the nonexistent space between Alex and Miles, roughing them apart. Alex leaned back, drank some, and glared at his drummer. Not that Matt would get it, anyway. His timing had always been the worst!

**#2003**

**#Miles**

He awoke to the sound of a guitar being strummed. It was a familiar sound. Warm and soft, a gentle tune that was being coaxed from the strings, one that snuck into his ears and caressed his head inside which a brutal headache raged. Carefully, not knowing what would await him, Miles blinked his eyes open. It was dark. Small bits of light lit the room just enough to reveal shapes and contours. There was a window, he could tell. And from the feeling of it, he’d say he was on a couch.

Taking a breath, sniffing, studying the scent of the room, he judged it foreign. He blinked some more. Searched his surroundings for details. For clues. On the floor in front of him, somebody strummed the guitar again. He only saw the back of that person’s head. Saw outgrown, messy hair. And smiled. “Al…”

The figure turned. Lips pulled up into a small smile, Alex stopped playing. “Look who’s alive.”

Alive? Was he that? Miles groaned. Not for long, if the headache got any say in it. He shifted, rolled onto his side. Memories returned and he recalled where they were. Music still droned from speakers. Sounds of chatter had gone quiet. “What time is it?”

“Middle of the night? Or the very early morning?” guessed Alex. “Woke up a bit ago. Found this nice guitar in the corner. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“’s okay.” He curled his arms beneath his head and watched him. “What’cha playin’?”

“Something new, I think. Been working on it for a long, long time. Just won’t go anywhere.” Alex scooted closer, angling Miles’ way. “Sometimes it’s like I forget how to write.” Fingers plucked on a string. A lone note filled the room. “I know what I want to say, how I want it to sound. Got it all in my head. Only, when I take the guitar, it goes away. My mind goes blank.” From the guitar, Alex looked up at him. He let go of the strings. “There’s a…” His hand neared Miles’ face. “May I?”

Miles replied with a shaky nod and held his breath as Alex’s fingertip brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. To his utter amazement, his headache was gone as well. All by a single gesture.

The hand remained. Alex’s eyes were unmoving, transfixed, as he slowly carved his fingers through Miles’ hair. “So soft,” he whispered as if amazed by it.

His eyes began to flutter. That’s how good it felt.

Alex moved the guitar out of his lap. “You can do that.”

“Do what,” exhaled Miles, devoid of sound.

“Make my mind go blank.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Sometimes,” confessed Alex, only to smile ever so indefinably. “Makes me do silly things, things I wouldn’t do if my thoughts persisted.”

“Like what?”

The smile vanished. “This.” The fingers stilled inside his hair. Miles watched, frozen in place, as Alex closed his eyes and leaned forward. And then, just like that, he pressed his lips to Miles’. A kiss. A real kiss. He swallowed into it.

Alex let up, eyes still shut. “Silly. Told you.” Slowly, they opened.

If he had an eternity at his hands to describe that act, he’d not call it silly once. Life-changing, maybe. And curious. New. Magical. Never silly. Never that.

“Did I steal your voice?” All that Miles felt at the moment, he saw on Alex’s face as well. Wonder. Astonishment. Confusion. “I must kiss you again, then, to return it? Am I allowed to?”

Miles nodded.

Alex kissed him back. Firmer, this time. Warm lips urged against his own. They were feverish and pliant, and they fit perfectly. Alex held them still, not moving, merely touching their mouths together. Yet, beneath that sweet exchange, Miles grew intrigued and found himself longing for more.

Once again, the kiss came to an end.

This time, his head devoid of thoughts and fears, it was Miles who started the next one, leaning forward, only to halt a hair’s breadth away from Alex’s face. Last-minute, he recalled that Alex had asked. So, he asked, too. “May I?”

“Yes,” croaked Alex, his nod jerky,

Miles kissed him. Their lips were made to kiss. There was inherent beauty in the way they aligned each time they met. Always an ideal match. Tilting his head to the side a tad, the contact grew deeper. He could feel Alex gasp for air through his nose. A sense of necessity overcame him. Kissing Alex, all of sudden, was as vital to his survival as oxygen or music. Right now, he’d trade both for another kiss. If only he could. He parted for air, inhaled sharply, and held Alex’s eyes, dark as they were. He searched for answers, for clues, for explanations. And stopped at once when Alex closed the distance between them, slanting his mouth over his own and kissing all questions out of his head.

His arm shot out, crawled off the couch, to the ground. To support his weight. He leaned forward, seeking a closer connection and heard a moan slip from his throat. It made Alex smile into the kiss. He’d never tasted anything sweeter.

Another yelp for air. Lips parted.

Alex pulled on his head, rejoined their lips. His tongue slipped into Miles’ mouth. Only for a second. Then, Miles dropped off the couch, into Alex’s arms. They wound up on the floor, their bodies swiftly lining up. Legs tangled. His hand fisted into Alex’s shirt, drawing him nearer.

“Miles…” Alex rolled on top of him. Languidly, as if not trusting himself or gravity, he rose to his knees, bowed forward, brought his head down. Only to stop in awe. From the chin, which Alex touched, his finger traced a path to his lower lip. “Your mouth, it’s irresistible.” His rasped words cut through Miles’ threadbare self-control like a hot knife through butter. He could feel the fog of his words colliding with his lips. “Been thinking ‘bout kissing you for so long.”

Miles no longer recalled that he was scared of his own feelings. He forgot that he risked damaging a friendship he cared greatly about. Here, in the faint light of half a moon’s crescent, cast in a gradient that concealed all traces of the outside world in a forgiving glow, the ties that held him back began to unravel. “Don’t stop,” he begged, taken aback by the shameless greed for him which made his voice gravelly and hoarse. Fingertips, his own, cold from a momentary lack of contact, traipsed up the seam of Alex’s pants until they settled against his waist. Just that. Just resting.

Burning. His hand was burning, now. It had gone from cold to that in an instant.

It was melting.

‘ _Forever Young’_ began playing in the background.

_Let’s dance in style, let’s dance for a while_

_Heaven can wait, we’re only watching the skies_

Lips met.

His heart stopped beating. Or maybe it beat too fast for him to hear the breaks in between.

It was eerily quiet around them. All Miles could hear was the thunderous sound of his pulse, an endless onslaught of loud, piercing thuds, speeding up every single time their lips connected. And the music. The notes, one by one, serving as the baseline for the kiss like a metronome.

_Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst_

_Are you gonna drop the bomb or not?_

“Need to…” Alex’s speech sounded scraped; his breath was a stammer as he wedged nearer. “Touch…need to hold…”

Miles nodded, the act eager. His own fingers, once lazing against Alex’s waist, had dug in. Gripped him.

Eyes slammed shut. A flood of excitement crashed against him as Alex’s palm curved down his cheek toward his throat, the touch unbearably intimate and bold. Lips met again. And again. “Alex…” he moaned, submitting wholly to his needs.

The second his lips parted, Alex, brave that he was, took charge and kissed him for real. Deeply. Thoroughly. Miles clung to him. Craved him. Hauled him closer. This was fucking ridiculous! He was kissing Alex. Not only that; he was turned on by it. More so than he’d ever been in all his life. He was on fire. He needed his lips everywhere. Hands roamed over bodies. Shirts were gripped. His fingers traveled to every single spot they could reach, to the shoulders, the back, the chest, the hips, the stomach, the waist, the thighs, the ass, fucking everywhere, and the more he felt him beneath his grasp, the greater the urge for more became.

He was a guy, for fuck’s sake!

Hard and angled. Lean and male. There was no bosom. No curvy derriere – although, to be fair, Alex’s ass was exceedingly well shaped! He grunted into the kiss as his fingers squeezed his butt.

Alex’s response was a loud whimper that tore through his body with the same might as a well-done stroke of his dick would have done.

His lungs began to burn. He was running out of oxygen. The kiss was too good to stop. He'd rather suffocate than risk an ending to something that had barely begun! Miles narrowly managed a pause, a quick moment to take a deep breath and he inhaled as deeply as he could. Like a diver about to go underwater, he filled his lungs, to last as long as possible before he'd have to come up again. What futile act that was, though, for Alex’s mouth latched on to his throat and all the air left his insides at once. That’s when he fell back-first over a cliff into the abyss, eyes closed, no longer concerned for life or death as long as whatever came next came in the shape of Alex’s lips. He was flying. Weightless. “Alex…” His name slipped from his throat over and over, hoping that saying it could help in any way, could make him do more, do something! He was spiraling into madness. His arousal was growing with each lick of Alex's tongue. His balls were about to burst! Driven by desire, he took charge, swept Alex onto his back, and took over the kissing, dipping his tongue into his mouth, and—

“MILES, ALEX,” somebody shouted from the other side of the door. “Fucking open up! Are you in there? Come on!”

Miles scrambled backward, staring wide-eyed at the guy in front of him. There, Alex sat. Eyes black, lips red, a languid smile on his face, he looked the definition of lust.

Leaning up on his elbows, unperturbed as though this was an everyday occurrence to be interrupted whilst kissing one’s best mate, Alex met his gaze. “Why’d you stop?”

“’cause…” Well, somebody had called their names, right? Miles dragged both hands over his face. Where exactly was he? Was he even awake? Was this a dream? How could he find out? Finding out was important. If it was a dream, he could continue to kiss those lips, to touch that body, to… Thoughts vanished when Alex fisted his shirt, drawing him forward.

“Not done yet,” declared Alex.

Miles gulped hard. Dream or not? Dream or not?! _Oh, fuck it!_ He barged forward, grabbed that face, and kissed those rosy lips that tasted of strong liquor and gorgeous mistakes. His tongue licked against his with the naughtiest intentions and he growled into his mouth when Alex raised his hips to—

“Turner, Kane,” it bellowed.

Not a dream. “Fuck!”

Beneath him, Alex grunted soundly. “Busy,” he shouted back.

It made Miles pause. If Alex replied like that, then Alex knew this wasn’t a dream, and that meant he also knew they were kissing for real. They were doing far worse than kissing! And Alex was fine with it?

“Open up!”

“It’s Matt.” Alex, flat on his back, arms wide, lamented in defeat. “Shit!” Catching Miles’ eyes, the expression on Alex’s face mellowed and turned sly. “Gonna get up or…”

Was that a wink? A fucking wink? How on earth could Alex wink when they were on the floor in the middle of a mansion belonging to God knew whom while doing God knew what! And whatever that ‘what’ was, it was absolutely _not_ platonic! Miles stood up, trying the steadfastness of his legs and once he was certain his standing was secure, he rearranged his clothes and shot Alex a look of annoyance. A fucking wink?!

Eyes rolled as Alex got up from the floor. Wordlessly, he walked over to the door and unlocked it, revealing Matt. Dangling from his side was Nick, and next to the bassist stood Jamie, giggling like a maniac.

Miles walked up to the door as well. “What’s going on?”

“Found these two trying to go for a swim. Called a cab.” He shifted. Nick, clearly, was heavy. “Some help, please?!”

Catching the other side of Nick’s drooping frame, Miles roped the bassist’s arm around his own shoulder and helped support him.

Alex reached for Jamie. “Stop laughing, moron. There’s nothin’ funny happening.” He aimed for the main door. “That way. Follow me.” Waving his arm in front of him to give directions, Alex paused at the sound of gagging which filled the quiet hallway like the intro to a horror film. “Barf on me and you’ll regret it. What the fuck did they drink?”

Matt scoffed. “Finished the big bowl where we mixed all that liquor. Both of ‘em did.”

“Shit!” Miles fastened his hold on Nick. “We can’t take ‘em home like this.”

Agreeing, Matt nodded. “We’ll drop ‘em in the garage. There are trash bags in case stuff gets ugly. And water. Somebody should stay and watch, probably. Just in case.”

“I’ll stay,” Miles offered. He was in no condition to sleep at any rate.

They made it outside. “I’ll keep ya company,” Alex told him. “Great, cab’s already here. Let’s go.”

 _Yeah. Great_ , thought Miles grimly. Just what he wanted. A garage, two black-out drunks, and his best mate whom he’d just make out with in the most non-best-mate way imaginable. What a morning this was going to be!

**#Miles**

**#2018**

Jamie, Nick, and Matt had all arrived and settled into the booth, each carrying a different bottle of liquor or glasses. Their moment effectively ruined, for better or for worse, Miles sat up and tapped one of the bottles with a chuckle. “You guys got plans for tonight, eh?”

“If only we had a bowl to mix this shit,” said Matt.

“God beware,” growled Nick, clutching his head. “The headache that got me lasted fucking days!”

Alex cackled. “The stink from the two of you barfing lasted longer!”

Jamie opened the bottle of gin and poured it into the empty glasses. “Some night that was. Might just be the best party we ever went to!”

Having scooted infinitesimally closer to Alex, Miles stiffened when his fingers travelled over the back of his blazer, a touch that was dimmed by the fine fabric but potent, nonetheless. It was a drop of searing hot water running down his skin, leaving an endless scar in its wake. Against his ear, Alex’s warm breath slammed. “One of my favorite memories. The night,” he whispered. “And the morning after…”

.

.

** Spoiler Chapter 13 Part 2: **

#

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

Alex snapped his admiring eyes away from Miles’ retreating backside and met the quizzing gaze of his bassist with bafflement. “’scuse me?”

Nick nodded his chin in the direction Miles had gone off to. “He’s got a boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry, do you see me calling your girlfriend to rat you out ‘bout what you’ve done tonight?”

“By all means,” encouraged Nick, eyes rolling, “go fucking do it. I just looked. I’m not all over my ex who is in a committed relationship.”

#

“What is…” Miles stirred in his arms. He let go just enough to catch Alex’s eyes and when he did, when their eyes met, Alex saw nothing but affection. Pure, unconditional affection. A thumb flicked over his cheek. There was a dampness he sensed on his skin.

Miles was whispering. “Are you sad?” His words were brittle, too gentle to endure.

Was he? He wiped his eyes. There were tears.

“Let me fix it.”

#


	14. Chapter 13 Part 2: Choice

**#Miles**

**#2003**

“You don't think this is strange?” Miles, doubtful, leaned with his hip against the garage door and pinched his nose, observing their guitarist who rolled on the floor in a fit of giggles while appearing to be asleep. He waved a hand at him, to emphasize how ridiculous this scene was. “He's bloody lost it, Alex. What if he's tripping on something? Do we know for sure he only had alcohol?”

“Looks fine to me.” Alex, far from interested, sat on the floor next to him, back resting against the wall, legs bent and pulled up. “He's havin' a funny dream. Relax, Mi. If he were tripping on something, he'd look worse.” Next to Jamie, up, on the couch, Nick stirred, leaving Alex groaning. “Fuck. He's ready to barf again.”

“Trash can!”

“Behind the couch,” shot Alex.

Miles scrambled across the rehearsal space to shove it into the bassist's hands. Just in time. “Ugh, that's disgusting!”

Back on the floor, Alex grunted. “Tell me 'bout it. We deserve a medal for this shit!”

It had been going on for half an hour, now. Matt had dropped all of 'em off before telling the cab driver to take him home. Aside from the two drunks trying to work through their state of madness, he'd been the one least affected yet most tired. Alex and Miles had offered to stand guard and keep an eye up. Once Jamie and Nick had dropped for some much-needed sleep, he and Alex had gone for some equally required mouth wash, then for some instant coffee collecting dust next to warm bottles of beer, and a bit of fresh air. But on a Saturday morning, the row of garages and the street in itself were busy and bustling with people. Preferring to be on their own, not forced to explain the giggling man and the snorer who barfed, they'd lowered the garage door and decided to suffer the heat instead.

Miles made a move to sit down as well but just as he did, Alex jumped up and grabbed a bucket from the corner, quickly jamming it into Jamie's arms. “Shit, he's starting, too. Help me get him up!”

He did, grabbing one half of his upper body as Alex heaved the other half upward and then both looked away as it began to erupt from Jamie.

Five minutes later, they placed his back against the foot of the couch, gave him the cleaned bucket to hug, and wiped the sweat from their foreheads.

“It'll cost 'em good money to thank us for it. m' thinking fancy whiskey or some shit like that.” Alex patted his pockets for his cigarettes.

Miles, catching his intent, handed him his own.

“Thanks.” He nodded for the door. “Wanna?”

He checked once more on the boys drowsing nearby. Satisfied they were okay, he followed him out. Outside, the sun blasted with all its might. Sweat prickled his skin and Miles wished for a shower more than anything. Ice cold, to lower his body's temperature, to wash off the remains from last night – the literal and the figurative. Pressing his back to the wall, he found at long last a moment to relax. His mind might be awake, but his body was drained and spent.

And Alex looked just as beat. Messy curls and knotted strands perched on his head, in no small parts thanks to Miles’ own freshly grown kink of pulling on it. Alex’s shirt was wrinkled, and he smelled. “Some sight we make, eh?” With a self-ridiculing chuckle, Miles reached out and plucked some white hairs from Alex's shoulder. “Shaggy carpet left its mark on you.”

“Five more minutes,” joked Alex, “and I'd have gotten rug burn.”

His first instinct was to laugh, and he did, but then the words, the implication sank in and Miles could feel his cheeks glowing like a red light. “Well…uh…” He kicked a pebble. How to respond to that? His hand dropped from Alex’s shoulder.

Alex caught it. Held on to it. “Too bad Matt interrupted us, huh?” He turned it over gently, ran his thumb over the palm.

The cigarette died a lonely death between his fingers for Miles lost all interest in it. He could only stare at him. At his best mate. At his singer. His band member. The one who was taking his hand and burning his fingerprints into his skin. “Alex…”

The sound of his name made him smile. Eyes lifted and Miles sank into them. They were darker than usual. Stricken with exhaustion. And yet, they shimmered and sparkled at the same time. “I like the way you say my name,” whispered Alex into the ever-lessening space between them. “As though it is delicate and fragile. And you’re careful not to break it.” Fingers laced. “I’d like to kiss you again.”

“You—” God, where had his voice gone? Miles cleared his throat as the touch of Alex’s hand made his skin heat up. “You do?”

“Are you surprised?” Lips curled into something amused. “May I?”

Miles nodded.

Alex leaned in. He kissed him. Once, then twice. Then he let up, flicked his cigarette away, cupped both cheeks with his warm palms, and turned the innocent busses into a single deep kiss. One that stole the last of Miles' breath. It was the type of kiss that made your toes curl and your stomach flutter. It was so bloody good that Miles even forgot to kiss him back, something he instantly regretted when Alex pulled back with forlorn eyes. “You didn't…” He struggled for the words to finish. “Sorry…I thought—”

Not thinking for once, yanking the plug on his brain, Miles grabbed Alex's waist, took a step forward, and decided to risk something. Tilting his face to the side, allowing for their noses to align side by side and not tip to tip, he couldn't help but giggle when their lips brushed together only to part as fast. Two shy kids, trying to figure this thing out.

He knew how to kiss. He'd done it before. Bloody hell, he'd even kissed Alex before. But now, in the bright light of day, unable to blame it on drinks and sleep, it was much harder. Suddenly it mattered to him to get it right, to not muck this up. This one was going to become a memory and he wanted it to be a good one. Not for him, but for Alex. Alex deserved only the best memories. The best moments. The best kisses. Miles licked over the seam of his mates' lips. A timid question. A gentle probe.

One instantly answered. Alex opened for him, invited him in, and after that, it was amazing. He didn't know how else to describe it. It was the rush of a Christmas morning, the joy and excitement one felt at the sight of the first snow, the energy and the delight at summer's first rays of the sun. It was a golden batch of cookies fresh out of the oven. It was the best cake he'd ever eaten. The finest guitar he'd ever held. It was perfection.

Alex's mouth tasted of coffee and minty mouth wash. Of cigarette smoke and happiness.

A car honked.

Laughing into the kiss, Alex broke it first. One hand, noted Miles only now, had found its way between their bodies, where it hovered over his chest. It must have felt the violent drum of his beating heart.

It stunned Miles to discover that his own hands had slipped beneath the hem of Alex's shirt without his notice, to sit against the bare skin of his lean hips. Skin that was warm and damp and glued to his palms. The touch was incredibly, marvelously intimate. He'd never gotten this lost in a kiss before. Until Alex, he'd never known kisses as consuming as this before.

His free hand, Alex slid over Miles' left arm, down to his hand, which he entwined with his own. “Maybe,” he spoke, “a busy street is the wrong place to kiss?” Foreheads rested against another. “Maybe we should go inside and—”

From the inside, garbling noises arrived.

“Or not,” dreaded Miles. This close to him, this near, he found himself struck by how beautiful Alex was. How rich the color of his eyes was. How tantalizing the smile on his mouth. How easy it suddenly was to be inside his arms. Now, that the first kisses were out of the way, the first admission made, the first steps taken, a weight had lifted from his shoulders. Questions had been answered. His thoughts were slowly falling into place. Feelings that had scared him now became ones he reveled in.

The garbling became chokes and coughs.

Alex sighed with rue. “Sounds like we're needed in there.” He let go, but only in part. The interwoven fingers remained as they were. Along with that, Miles’ smile continued. He followed him inside.

Nick had fallen from the couch; had landed in Jamie's lap. Now, both fought over the bucket.

“Take the guitarist,” said Miles. “I'll take the bassist.”

“Then we need to hose this place down,” concluded Alex, pointedly sidestepping the toppled-over trashcan.

“I bloody mean it, they owe us for this.” Alex wiped a hand over his forehead, his skin wet and flushed. He cast a look around the rehearsal space. “Think we got everything?”

Miles, for the hundredth time, nudged the bucket back into Jamie’s arms with a stern message. “In there. Get it? You barf in there!” Next to Jamie, on the couch, sat Nick, who clutched the trashcan.

“Headache,” muttered their bassist.

“Yeah,” said Miles, “I think we got all the barf.” They’d been going at this for two hours now. Every time they thought it was over, one or both began anew. “And we’re out of aspirin,” he addressed Nick. “Put the towel back to your forehead.”

Nick did. The trashcan slipped.

Miles gave up to the sounds of Alex’s laughter.

“’s useless. Com’ere. Have a smoke with me,” he told him, holding up his cigarettes. Miles all but rushed there. Alex held on one out for him. “Not gonna take much longer. Cookie’s mom called me, asked about her son. Told her she could pick him up here.”

“Ooh, he looks bad.” Miles winced, fearing trouble. “She’ll be pissed.”

“At him, not us. We’re practically sober!”

As Miles’ fingers reached the cigarette, they skimmed against Alex’s. He hadn’t anticipated the contact and was struck by the bolt of electricity that surged through his limbs at the touch without a warning. Eyes shot up, locking with Alex’s. His mouth ran dry, his breathing stuttered, and his hand trembled. The tobacco no longer concerned him. Only Alex. Increment by increment, he edged his finger’s tip up that cigarette, toward Alex’s thumb, where they connected again. Another spark. He swore he saw it light up. Swallowed.

From beneath thick lashes, Alex smiled shyly.

Miles did, too. “They’re facing the other way,” he whispered as quietly as was possible.

Catching the message, Alex nodded. Leaned in. Brought his mouth against Miles’. Lips grazed another. Eyelids fluttered. With a tiny moan, Miles inclined his head, deepened the kiss, turned it into a real one, and was on the verge of going under.

Until it knocked. “Alex,” a female voice called. “Kids, you’re in here?”

“Yes,” called Alex, letting go of Miles. “We’re inside, Misses Cook.” He licked his lips.

Miles all but shuddered. Wiped his mouth. Straightened up and quickly stuffed the cigarette into his pants. “Come in. Door’s open.”

Jamie’s mother stepped in.

And her jaw hit the floor. “You got to be kidding me.”

**#2018**

**#Miles**

“Anyone got any plans for tomorrow? Now would be a good time to cancel.” Alex downed a shot of tequila. It was vile and it burnt in the back of one’s throat. Tequila always did. But Alex made no face, gave away no reaction to the strong liquor, at least none that Miles could make out. He merely leaned back, grinned at him, and nestled into his side as the latter drew his arm over his shoulder. Miles warmly welcomed him by curling around him as much as was possible, and because simply holding him wasn’t nearly enough to satiate his craving for him, he settled his fingers against Alex’s biceps where they danced idly over the defined curve.

His face dropped into Alex’s neck. His nose pressed into the elusive spot where his jawbone ended and his lobe began. _That scent_ , thought Miles, mesmerized by it. Somebody ought to sell it. It was worth a fortune. He adjusted his leg, awarded himself more room, and let his wandering fingertip outline the slope of Alex’s upper arm. “You work out a lot?”

“I…” Alex’s breath caught in his throat. Miles wondered if it was because he’d given his neck a tiny smooch. “Eh…sometimes.” Alex shimmied closer.

Across, the remaining Monkeys burst into laughter.

A distracting noise. Loud and lacking reason. “What’s funny?” asked Miles, wanting to laugh, too. In his arm, Alex wiggled, a smile illuminating his face. “You laugh, too? Wanna laugh, too, too.” That sounded like one ‘too’ too many. He blinked.

“Not laughing,” promised Alex, eyes twinkling. “Smilin’. ‘s different. Just thought ‘bout somethin’.”

“Yeah?” He forgot about the laughter, which continued. He gazed at him, instead. “What’s that?”

“’member when you…” Cheeks colored crimson. He twisted his head to the side, to hush the words into Miles’ ear. “When you came over and told me you watched porn and wanted to suck me and see if it was really that easy?”

Once again, he shifted, squirmed, needed more space for that insistent stiffness inside his pants. “Mmh.” Why had he decided to wear jeans? Sweats were much more comfortable. He should have gone with sweats. Or boxers. Boxers were comfy, too. And it wasn’t even that cold. Sure, outside, it was cold. But not here. Not next to Alex. Here, it was warm and humid and even a bit foggy. “What ‘bout the porn?”

“What porn?” probed Matt. “Speak up!”

Alex shook with laughter. Miles had to laugh as well when Alex shoved his palm against his mouth. “Shhhh!”

Nick tossed a crumpled napkin their way. “What porn?!”

Miles tugged on Alex’s hand and when that didn’t work, because he was very drunk and Alex was very strong, he licked his palm instead. Alex let up at once, eyes wide. Not just wide. Dark, too. Black. Blacker than black.

“What. Porn?” Matt repeated himself.

“ _’Jeff Stryker’s Underground,’_ ” volunteered Miles. Alex was still wheezing and shaking and not being a solid object to lean against, which caused Miles to slide down his side and land with his head on his friend’s thigh. A cozy thigh. Very much so. With a sigh of appreciation, he snuggled up. “Very good one. Learned lots!”

Jamie lost it completely. Matt and Nick giggled and whispered something before cracking up as well. Alex pinched Miles’ thigh. “Secret. Said we’d keep it a secret!”

“Oh.” Yes, they’d done that. He rolled onto his back, stretched out on the velvet, and gazed up at him, flashing a coy smile and even stuck out his tongue. “Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” sing-songed Alex. “It’s you who's gonna regret it in the morning. Those dorks won’t let you forget.”

“But you brought it up. Why’d you bring it up?” He giggled. “Wanna reenact some?” Eyebrows wiggled.

“Miles!” Slapping his chest, Alex shook his head with mirth. “Kinky!” He sank into the seat. Absentmindedly, his fingers ran over the short ends of Miles’ cropped hair, a sensation so pleasing that Miles couldn’t help but close his eyes to enjoy it more, without the distraction of the world around them.

To demonstrate with care how great this simple act delighted him, he lifted his hand and sprawled it against Alex’s chest and caressed it. Such a hard chest. Firm. Strong. Unyielding. To think that one single act of stupidity committed years ago had pierced through this rigid armor and left the underneath in shambles…

Against his head, the running of fingers stilled. “You look sad,” noted Alex.

“I’m so sorry, Alex.” He couldn’t _not_ say it. His remorse and his guilt were thick and constricting his throat and it hit him off guard. “So incredibly sorry.”

“But…for what, Mi?” The tiniest smile, one of faint amusement and a sense of being lost, glimmered on his features. “What are you talkin’ bout?”

Didn’t Alex remember? Miles couldn’t forget! “I broke your heart.”

Silence fell over them.

After a while, Alex picked up his gentle touches and flicked his fingers slowly back and forth. “Let’s not think about that tonight.”

“Tonight’s for havin’ fun,” said somebody a few feet away. Miles turned his head and discovered that their friends still sat at the other side of the table. He’d completely forgotten about them. Maybe they were right. This was a party, was it not? Not a funeral. No place to grieve and regret. His smile returned. It became a beam and he aimed it at Alex. Laced his fingers with his. “Will you dance with me?”

“Always,” whispered Alex.

“But I gotta go pee first.”

The whole group laughed. “Go do that, then,” Alex told him with a chuckle.

**#Alex**

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

Alex snapped his admiring eyes away from Miles’ retreating backside and met the quizzing gaze of his bassist with puzzlement. “’scuse me?”

Nick nodded his chin in the direction Miles had gone off to. “He’s got a boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry, do you see me calling your girlfriend to rat you out ‘bout what you’ve done tonight?”

“By all means,” encouraged Nick, eyes rolling, “go fucking do it. I just looked. I’m not all over my ex who is in a committed relationship.”

“When Miles tells me to stop, I’ll do it,” he bit out, terse and angered. “Until he does, I’ll not only be all over him. I’ll be under him, on top of him, next to him, and anywhere else he’ll have me! He’s _my_ Miles.” He was _his_ treasure. His fairytale. His unicorn. He’d found him first. And if this was his chance to remind Miles how good it had been and how amazing it could be, then damn him if he missed it!

“Is that it?” Jamie joined in. “Have you decided to forgive him? Are you really prepared to move on and start over? ‘cause if you’re not…”

Matt filled the blank. “Don’t do it.”

“I’m not forcing myself on Miles,” bristled Alex. “He’s his own fucking person. He makes his own choices.” Nobody knew that better than he did! “I’m here. And it’s on him to decide what to make with that.”

“He’s fucking wasted,” countered Nick. “He doesn’t know right from wrong! He can barely look straight!”

“It’s not fair, what you’re doing. You turn me into the bad guy and—”

“No one’s doing that,” objected Matt heatedly. “All we’re saying is that you need to know what you want, Al. Nobody wants you two to be happy more than we do. Fuck, I couldn’t be happier if you two got back together! You two are bloody meant to be! And the _Ugg-_ guy freaks me out. Like who wears those boots, for fuck’s sake!”

“Miles hurt you good. I know that!” Nick stretched. “And I’ll always have your back. I want you to know that.”

Alex relented. “I do know.”

A sympathetic smile from Jamie. “It’s just…the three of us, we saw what leaving you did to him. It tore him to pieces.”

Matt nodded. “’twas brutal to see.”

What? But? “He said he took one day at a time and…” If Miles had suffered, why hadn’t he come back to him? Why hadn’t he ever reached out? Why had he never come home? “Tore him to…how?”

“He’s got a picture of you in his wallet. It’s frayed and folded, discolored and – anyway, he’s in a year-long relationship. And you’re still there. In his pocket. Everywhere he goes.” Jamie shrugged helplessly. “Remember how he used to say he’d buy a _335_ if he ever got the money for it? The one he got, it’s got your strap on it. Sits in his studio. He’s got a second one, a different model he plays on stage. But the first one, that’s there. He used to play the acoustic for hours on end, writing the most wretched heartbreak songs you can think of.”

Alex had never heard a single one. All of Miles’ songs told stories of love gone bad or hearts falling apart. None had been sad or even personal. All had been told from the distance.

Jamie’s gaze dropped. “Or that first time we played in London and found out he’d been there, in the back of the club? The night Andy was there? It must have killed Miles to see you on stage. He looked miserable when he left.”

Andy? Miles had been there? And he’d run into Andy? Alex was on the edge of the seat. He hadn’t told him. Miles hadn’t said a word about that! Looking over his shoulder, suddenly anxious for his return, Alex swallowed hard. How come he didn’t know any of this? He’d thought Miles had only had one more run-in with Andy. The day he’d met Richard. There’d been more? “You knew he was…why didn’t you tell he’d been there?”

“I only found out when I saw him leave,” Matt explained. “What good would have come from telling you?”

He’d have run after Miles! He’d have… Would he have?

Nick dabbed Matt’s arm. “Know that old place he used to live at? That tiny apartment he shared with his cousin? The framed picture of us on stage? ‘twas the only thing that didn’t have dust on it.”

“That and freaky stuffed animal he had.”

Alex’s eyes flew open wide. “The what?”

“Some frazzled old teddy bear,” said Matt. “Didn’t he win it somewhere or something? Don’t know. Must mean something to him.”

**#2003**

“We’re not supposed to see each other.” Alex sat on the banister in the corner. In front of him, a dozen bumper cars attacked each other as loud music droned from speakers everywhere. The annual Sheffield carnival had arrived. The first weekend of summer break always brought it along. And he couldn’t enjoy any of it ‘cause of the fucking party’s fallout.

A swagger in his step, an easy smile on his lips, Miles sauntered up to him. “I know. Got a stern warning to keep my distance from you. Apparently, we need some discipline. A cooling-off period.”

Alex spun his eyes in a circle. “All ‘cause Jamie’s parents freaked out over a bit of alcohol consumption.” Misses Cook had called all their parents and demanded that the band use a week or so to get their priorities straight lest they wanted to carry on with one guitarist missing and away in boarding school. Two days had gone by since the party, one that had made the rounds amongst concerned parents as the catastrophe of the year, one that would go down in the annals of school history.

Rich kid’s pool had to be cleaned and refilled with water, somebody had ruined a fancy-ass painting by placing his hands on it – Alex didn’t consider himself the culprit. He’d scarcely touched it and who knew who else had put their chubby hands to it! Some of the furniture had required some new upholstering thanks to a very expensive red wine being spilled generously. And one lone idiot had snuck into the garage and Sharpie’d his name onto the hood of an extremely rare _Mercedes_.

“Five more days and we got our garage back.” Miles hopped onto the banister next to him. Alex’s little finger, alongside the rest of his eager body, waited for Miles’ small digit to cross the divide and steal a bit of a touch. Nothing. Miles bit his lip. “’spose it’s unwise to smoke in view of Sheffield’s well-behaved society?”

“I’d be more concerned with my mom or your mom finding out we’re talking.” He glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, trying his hardest not to stare. How was it fair that just as he and Miles had discovered the joys of kissing as a nice addition to an already fantastic friendship, their mothers considered space a formidable suggestion? He hopped off. “Meet me behind the Candyland in five minutes. The one near the shoe store, with the broken cotton candy machine.”

Alex checked the time. Four minutes and ten seconds. Only a few more seconds and—

“Hey.”

His gaze jumped up. Excitement filled his voice, but he hid it. Played it cool. “You’re early. I said five minutes.” He’d sound more convincing, he was sure, if he weren’t sporting a smile the size of a bloody space rocket.

Miles’ grin was cheeky. “I can leave again.”

His arm shot out, fisted his shirt, and pulled him behind the sugar truck. “Don’t you dare.” The hand remained where it was. Sensed the heat from him. The kind was penetrating and seductive. He reaching behind himself, into the back pocket of his jeans, from where he pulled free a fist-sized stuffed teddy bear. Not daring to look into Miles’ eyes, afraid direct eye-contact would reveal too much of his state of mind, he shoved the teddy into his hand. “Here.”

Laughter from Miles. “What’s that? Did you win that?”

“Had to fill those bloody minutes somehow,” he murmured, embarrassed he’d spent them at the claw machine losing a lot of money just to score some silly toy.

Taking it from him, Miles gave it a thorough inspection, awarding it far more consideration than it was worth. “You want me to have it?”

Shrugging, Alex joked it off as a meaningless act. That stuffy figure was brown. Dark brown. Like Miles’ eyes were. Therefore, he’d decided he’d wanted it. And then, when he’d gotten it after a prolonged fight with a machine that was programmed to win, he’d gotten the dumb idea that it might make a nice gift for Miles. He’d never made any of his friends this kind of random gift. But Miles wasn’t any friend. He was Miles. And ‘friend’ was a term that no longer applied properly to their changed status. “Just take it. Toss it. Whatever.”

“Not gonna toss it.” He held it with both hands. Admired it. “How long did you need to get it?”

Five pounds and three and a half minutes. “Nah, first try. Got lucky.”

“You’re lying,” coaxed Miles, tilting his head down to meet Alex’s avoiding eyes. “Was tough, was it not?” Lips turned wide. “Admit it.”

“Fine! Yes.” He sighed. Looked away. Fuck, why was this so difficult? They’d already kissed! More than once. More than a handful of times. They’d made out all morning between cleaning trash cans and buckets of barf. The oddest morning of his life. Bliss and disgust entwined. Why didn’t Miles just grab him and—

A hand balled around the hem of his tee, drawing him nearer. Alex inhaled deeply. Miles’ shyly murmured words tore on his heartstrings. “Do we still…you know…do _that_?”

“ _That_ …like…” Anticipation bloomed to life as he allowed himself to be pulled into Miles’ arms. “Kissing, you mean?”

Miles nodded. “Yeah?”

Teeth dragged over his lip as his smile grew too big for his face. “I think we do.” And then he did remember that he was confident and brash and a rock star-to-be and not somebody cowering in the face of possible rejection. Besides, gazing at Miles, staring into eyes that looked nothing like that damned teddy bear now that he was up close and could see for certain, a rebuff seemed as far-fetched a concept as it could be. He curled his hands around Miles’ waist and yanked him forward to meet his lips. It was at this moment that it became obvious to him that Miles was a guy and not a girl. His body wasn’t as yielding. If he pulled on it, he had to put some muscle into it. When Miles tightened his arms around him, he felt that. It was secure. And he felt wanted. After a mind-blowing minute of kissing, he let up, gasped for air, and cocked his head to the side. “For future encounters…” To make this easier for them, he figured, some rules were required. “We kiss. No question ‘bout that!”

Noses bumping, Miles nodded cheerfully. “Agree.”

“We gotta find a way to meet ‘til we get the garage back.”

“Mom and dad are out of town tomorrow night.”

Perfect! “I’ll be there.”

“How?” asked Miles, sneaking in little pecks and leaving happiness in Alex’s heart.

“I’ll find a way.”

“No incriminating stuff.”

“No parked moped at the curb?”

“No alcohol, no cigarettes.”

“Great…”

“Make do with me.”

His mood sprung back to life. Lips met again. “Alright.”

**#2018**

There was no dance floor. Nobody was dancing. It was a bloody strip club. Alex stood in front of the stage, taking in the sight of two barely clad women competing for his care, or his money. One snaking her limbs around a pole, one performing some kind of mating ritual on the floor.

Behind him, Miles came up, his hands straightaway falling against his hips, his breath tickling his neck. His voice was swollen with awe. “If you watch this up close, it really hits you how hard this pole-dancing stuff is. That’s hardcore exercise!”

Alex gave him a blank look, meeting his eyes over his shoulder. “Exercise?” An idea hit him. “You’re into that shit. Maybe you want to take up pole-dancing.” He could come and watch. He’d even get him a pole. Better yet, he could mount it in his bedroom. Watch him sway his hips. Or strip. Or all of it.

“I’d drop on my ass if I ever jumped one of those,” laughed Miles, the vibrations of it pulling on Alex’s attention and ripping it completely away from the stage.

He was pretty sure Miles would look sexy while doing that – dancing, jumping, or falling. His arm moved up; his hand extended. “A dance?”

Miles’ head dropped forward, his ears burning red. “’twas a joke,” he mumbled, “No one’s dancin’.”

“Has that ever stopped us from doing anything?” It had stopped _him_ from doing a lot of things. Acting silly or juvenile was not something he considered appealing. He was a musician. A serious songwriter. His image was one of a cool leather jacket and coifed hair. Not childish nonsense. And yet, here he was, fingers wiggling, waiting for the smile on Miles’ face to spring to life. The list of things he’d do to make him smile was endless; he loved doing it so much. “Come on. You know you want to.”

Miles dragged his feet, avoiding even looking at him. “ _Sean Paul’s ‘Get Busy’_ is playing. Wanna tango to that?”

“Excuses.” Snaking one arm around his middle, Alex turned toward the bar. “Mitch, play something soft, will ya?”

“Got it, Alex.” A moment later, the gentle tunes of _Alphaville’s ‘Forever Young’_ filled the club. _Wow_ , thought Alex, amazed. _Fate doin’ one for me tonight, huh?_ “What more do you need? Ain’t that a sign to cut the rug with me?” Brows moved up and down, full of sly delight.

Tentative and with blood-red cheeks, Miles stepped into Alex’s arms. “Love that song.” His hand floated over Alex’s, skimmed it briefly, but not for long. Instead, far removed from dancing in any classical sense of the word, Miles wrapped both arms around Alex’s frame, tightened his hold, and buried his face into the arch of his neck.

Thudding away to a maddening beat, his heart threatened to jump out of his chest. Alex returned the fierce embrace in the blink of an eye, squeezed him against his body, and moved his hips from side to side as gently as he could, only to clasp him even closer when Miles joined in on the slow-burning dance. “Haven’t heard that one in years,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of Miles’ ear. He’d shunned the song. He’d be lying to himself if he were to claim the opposite.

“Neither have I. Not since…”

The memory clenched around his throat and choked him. “I still got the tape,” confessed Alex. Against his skin, he felt the crinkling lines of Miles’ face, indicating his smile. He fisted his shirt, needing him closer.

“What a cheesy thing I did, puttin’ all those tunes on a tape.”

His first and only mixtape. One of his most prized possessions. It sat in a small wooden box in the bottom drawer of his studio, a room filled with mics and music paraphernalia and instruments – although, his entire apartment was filled with those – where it lived between rare guitar picks he’d collected, a letter he’d once written to Miles and never sent, and one of his late grandmother's hair curlers. She’d gifted it to him years ago after he’d started styling his hair a certain way.

“Do a proper curl,” she’d told him. “Be special like that.”

What would she tell him now, if she were still alive? Would she tell him to be brave and just go for it, the outcome be damned? Would she tell him to guard his own heart and heed the warnings from a time which passed long ago? Would she tell him to slow down and think first? 

No, not granny. She’d always told him to seize the day and apologize tomorrow. She’d be the first to shove him forward and into Miles’ arms. She’d probably lock Daniel into a room and toss the key to raise Alex’s chances. If she were still alive, she’d be his go-to person at this moment. How badly he wanted to talk to her right now. Spill his heart to her.

“What is…” Miles stirred in his arms. He let go just enough to catch Alex’s eyes and when he did, when their eyes met, Alex saw nothing but affection. Pure, unconditional affection. A thumb flicked over his cheek. There was dampness he sensed on his skin.

Miles was whispering. “Are you sad?” His words were brittle, too gentle to endure.

Was he? He wiped his eyes. There were tears.

“Let me fix it.” A second thumb caressed his other cheek. And as he held his breath, brought to his knees by this crushing tenderness, Miles’ pliant lips descended onto his own and gave him the purest kiss he’d ever received. Full of innocence. Ripe with love. “Better?”

He’d thought he’d loved him then. Years ago. If that had been love, what was this? What was gripping his heart now, clutching it, warming it in ways he’d never experienced before? What was this emotion that stole the words from his lips and left him with nothing but bliss? What was this calm look he spotted in Miles’ eyes that took away every single fright he’d ever known only to fill the voids with peace?

Alex leaned in, reconnected their mouths, and wanted to reply with the sort of quiet adoration he’d tasted on his lips, but he lacked the skill. Or maybe he lacked the talent to do anything quietly. His was a different forte. Passion surged through his veins, blinded his eyes for their surroundings, and powered his need to be as close to him as humanly possible.

“Alex…” moaned Miles into his mouth, into the kiss, spurring him on, letting him know he was doing this right. His hair was fisted and pulled on. The strain against his roots was proof that Miles still wanted him, still hungered for him. His Miles was fervent like that. Always had been. Alex went under, forwent breathing in exchange for more physical contact. Let the lust fuel his body and supply his brain with all that was needed.

“Miles…” He became frantic, greedier with each stroke of their tongues. “Miles…Mi…” _Mine_ , he wanted to say. _You’re still mine_. _Mine._

The phone rang.

A strange tune. Not a ringtone. A melody. A song of a kind. He didn’t recognize it.

Miles stopped kissing him.

No other information was necessary. This odd noise wafting from the phone belonged to a certain somebody, then. If he hadn’t made the connection already, the blatant guilt on Miles’ kiss-swollen lips and inside his bloodshot eyes was all he’d need to make it now.

“It’s—”

“Yeah,” Alex cut him off. He didn’t require hearing his name. “Are you leaving?” It came out wrong. Sour. Angry. But he didn’t know how to make it come out right. Was there a right way to ask if the man in his arms, the man he’d kissed, was returning to the guy he shared a bed with? How did one pose such a question in a manner that wasn’t a million shades of fucked up?

“Leaving,” mumbled Miles, not answering the call, merely staring at the device in his hand. “Yeah…I should.”

That fucking word.

“Do that, then. If you _should_.”

“Alex—”

“Just leave. You know how to do that.”

.

.

** Spoiler Chapter 14: **

#

“Alex?”

Alex let go of his tie. “Miles!” Lips flew into a smile before he could finish saying his name. They always did around him. Used to. Did again. “Haven't seen or heard from you in a week.” Not since the jaw-dropping kiss that had left him with a week of bone-melting fantasies and cold showers. And a lot of questions! Today, though, was not for that. Today was about being happy. “How are you?”

“Been better, I guess. I wanted to meet up with you. Swear…after how it ended…I didn't mean to bolt. I'm so sorry. There was…stuff kinda happened. We need to talk…”

#

“He’s got a fucking boyfriend,” hissed Alex across the table, trying to contain his ire. What was so bloody complicated about this fucking mess for Matt to get? Miles wasn’t single. Miles had hurt him. Miles was—

Looking at him.

With those big, brown eyes that looked like a glass of cognac on a cold, winter night in front of a fireplace inside a cabin in the woods, when you wore warm socks and were curled up on a blanket, nestled into a bunch of pillows, breathing in your love’s scent as you held him. Alex got up, ignored Matt’s whistle, and walked over.

#


	15. Truth

**#February 2018**

**#Miles**

He wasn’t entirely certain how he’d gotten home. He remembered bits and pieces. A cab ride. Fragments of a phone call. Daniel’s voice. Or maybe it hadn’t been a phone call. Maybe it had been an actual conversation. He couldn’t say for sure. It was all a very big, very confusing ball of fur and he wanted to cough it out, but he feared trying any harder might result in barfing, too.

It was already late in the morning by the time he emerged from the bedroom. The feel of the warm floor beneath his bare feet lured him further into the room. The dark wood had been sheathed in a layer of heat courtesy of the shiny sun. That one was also the reason he was shielding his eyes. It was fucking bright! He squinted into the open space of his apartment, trying to take inventory. The scent of hot coffee filled the air.

And the stench of food. His stomach churned.

“Morning, sweetheart. Get any rest?” Daniel sat at the table, reading the paper.

Miles wiped his face, then his eyes. Right there, in front of him, was an impressively decked table. It was full of edibles. Bagels. Jam. Cheese. Eggs. Tomatoes. Fresh orange juice. Even a bloody candle. He shuffled closer; his nose scrunched up. “Mornin’.” Dread filled him but he couldn’t say why. He scratched his head. Looked down at himself. Boxers and a shirt. He glanced at Daniel, who wore slacks and a button-up. On a Sunday morning. “Uh…am I missing something?” Certainly his voice, he realized. It was raspy at best. He waved a hand at the table. “What’s…”

“Breakfast,” smiled his boyfriend.

“Breakfast is coffee and a rolled-up slice of cheese.” He felt queasy. “Coffee. Just coffee,” he corrected and sat down carefully, troubled that too close contact with the food might trigger a nasty reaction. “What’s with the candle?” In his current state of post-liquor-everything hangover, there was a valid concern he might count as a fire hazard.

A shrug rolled off Daniel’s shoulders as he placed the paper away. “Nice extra.”

“Since when?” There was something disconcerting about the intensity of Daniel’s gaze. Reeking of guilt, Miles avoided eye-contact and stared at the mug.

“Have coffee, Miles.”

No argument there. Fifteen minutes and a large mug of coffee later, Miles tackled the irritating candle-thing again. “Seriously, what’s with it?” It was freaking him out. A foreign object, sitting there, mocking him. Only now, that he stared at the table, trying to make the flame go out by the sheer force of his will, did he notice the two extra plates across from him. “Are we expecting somebody?” He sure hoped not. Guests meant he’d have to put on pants. Maybe even wash. For the time being, the simple act of sitting upright was hard enough.

Daniel got up and hurriedly reached for the jacket which hung over the nearby couch. “Forget about that for the moment.” He patted his right pocket and visibly relaxed, confusing Miles even more than he already was. “Do you know what day we have?”

“Sunday?” Was this a bad dream? Did Freddy or Jason hide in a corner, murder weapons in hand? Some weird cognitive experiment? A trick question? “The eleventh,” he added, about fifty percent sure he’d gotten the date right. “February.”

A chuckle from Daniel. “Also, it’s been exactly a year since our second date.”

All that thinking about times had laid the groundwork for a solid headache. He rubbed his temple, had another sip of coffee, and scowled when Daniel’s remark sank in. “The… _second_ …date?”

“On the anniversary of the first one, we were in Paris. Not sure what to make of the fact that you were hungover that day, too. I’d say you drink too much but you don’t. You rarely drink.”

Miles bit back a snort. _Should have seen me growing up. Or on tour. Or out. Or last night…_

Daniel continued. “Can’t hold a few nights out with your friends against you, can I? And then, in Paris, you got into it with your ex. Can’t say how I would react if I ran into my childhood love. I suppose it can mess with one’s thoughts.”

It wasn’t a childhood love, but Miles had the notion that this wasn’t the kind of correction Daniel wanted to hear just then. Why did it matter that he was hungover, today? Or a few weeks ago? And since when did dates have anniversaries? He drank more coffee, very puzzled about it all.

Back at the table, Daniel came to a halt directly in front of him. Miles stared at him, confounded when his boyfriend began to declare his love for him. “I love you, sweetheart. You know that, right? And I assume it’s a good thing I decided not to hide a camera and secretly record this, given that your shirt is crinkly and your boxers are a bit tight and revealing.”

Miles checked his boxers. _Tight?_ “What—”

Daniel dropped to one knee.

He held on to the mug in alarm. “Oh God.”

Daniel smirked with a staggering amount of confidence. “Wait ’til you see the ring.”

“Daniel—” No shit, he was this close to throwing up!

“Let me, please!” He took a deep breath. “Miles, my love. We’ve been together for a year now and maybe that’s too short an amount, but at the end of the day, you make me incredibly happy, and isn’t that the only thing that matters?”

He had? How? He was an awful boyfriend. Always busy. Always working. He’d been on tour for most of the year, for crying out loud! It’s why moving in together – Daniel’s suggestion – had mattered little to him. He could count on two hands the weekends he’d been home. Shit! What of all things had given Daniel the idea to do this?! His sight turned blurry. Something vile built in the back of his throat.

“I had this whole thing planned for Paris, but life…you know how it is. Tends to get in between, right?” From his pocket, he withdrew a small box. Popped it open. Inside was a thin golden band. “Will you marry me?”

“Er…”

Behind Daniel, the door to the apartment flew open. “Can we come in, now? Did he say ‘yes’?”

“Mom?!” Miles gaped. Everything was happening so fast. Behind his mom, his father followed. He looked apologetic, she beamed like a headlight.

“Not yet,” admitted Daniel, expectation high and full of optimism.

Pauline Kane stopped abruptly, held Miles’ father by the arm, and shushed him. “Wait, he has to say ‘yes’ first!”

Miles bolted for the bathroom.

**#July 2003**

**#Miles**

“Hey, Misses Turner. Did you miss me?” Miles was swimming in happiness, today. A whole week of distance from Alex had filled him with an unprecedented amount of excitement to see his best mate, his _something more_ again. Their plans to meet a few days ago had fallen through, thanks to a canceled trip of his parents. He and Alex had been forced to accept the separation and make do with extended phone conversations.

Which, he now knew, was not his type of preferred communication. Kissing, via phone, did not work. That was a physical fact. Speaking via phone was tough ‘cause he and Alex both liked to talk and if it happened over the phone he couldn’t tell when Alex wanted to barge in, elaborate, distract from, or add to certain topics. It had ended with them speaking at the same time, in essence canceling each other out. He’d briefly considered telegrams or postcards, but writing wasn’t his forte unless it was writing lyrics, and singing telegrams this early in whatever newly developed relationship they were having was simply not an option.

In the doorway, Alex’s mother giggled. “Yes, Miles, I did miss you.” She pulled the door wide. “I must admit it was awfully quiet in the house for the last week. No loud music, no laughter, no cheeky commentary from my boys.” One side of her mouth flew up, revealing a grin. “I hope you two learned your lesson. At this age, you’re not supposed to drink this recklessly. Now, I know I can’t lock you in and keep you sober by force, but do try and be more responsible. As parents, we only want what’s best for—”

“Us,” blurted Alex, jumping down the steps of the stairs by taking two at a time. He smacked a kiss onto her cheek. “Got it. Lesson learned. We’ll never let Jamie and Nick near the good stuff again.” He reached the bottom, grabbed Miles’ hand, yanked hard, and pulled him up with him. “Hurry, Mi. We got a whole week to make up for! So much music, so much stuff, so much…” His words trailed off.

_So much kissing_ , thought Miles, shoved against Alex’s back to get him to move, and once again taking two steps at a time, they raced up the stairs. The second they entered Alex’s room, the door banged shut. Did he shut it? Was Alex the one? Did it matter? Miles warped against it with his back, lips stretched wide, eyes zeroing in on Alex’s. “Hi.”

Those two tiny letters Alex kissed straight off his lips, swallowing them whole. “God, I missed you!” Between kisses and moans, he brushed his palms over Miles’ cheeks and radiated with giddy enthusiasm. “Does that sound lame?” Another kiss. “Who cares, right? It’s true. I missed you.” He said it as if astonished by those words. Miles couldn’t blame him. This thing between them, this new layer in their relationship, there was nothing he could compare it with. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this moment, this sleep-stealing, mind-blowing, heartbeat-quickening feeling of being the object of Alex’s desires. It was all-consuming, swallowing his fears whole and leaving his head devoid of worries. Right now, all that mattered was kissing Alex.

He spun them around, brought his hand to Alex’s stomach, and smiled at the trembling body beneath his palms. Paying close attention to the immediate physical responses of a person – he’d never done that before, and it struck him how much he’d missed because of it. Every twitch of muscle revealed another secret of Alex. And Miles wanted to learn them all. Gently nudging him to the door, flattening him to it, he leaned in to give him the sort of kiss that could take somebody’s legs out. Meticulous and with conscious thought, his tongue played with Alex’s. It was only when Alex tugged on the fine hairs on his nape, growling into the kiss, that Miles eased up and leaned back, taking joy in the red color he’d coaxed onto his face. “Missed you, too.”

**#2018**

**#Alex**

Coffee meetings had stopped. Miles, he'd been told by Matt, was busy. With what, Matt couldn't say. He stood in front of the mirror of the men’s room inside the _Ritz_ and checked his reflection. The tie was knotted more perfectly than possible. The white of his shirt was bleached of all color particles. The collar was stiff and starched. The black seams of his blazer were stitched beyond well. And the shiny black shoes he'd polished for half an hour were doing despicable things to his little toes. He should have gone with the other ones, but these had looked so good in the window display at _Céline._ Behind it had been a large black and white print of Miles standing on a bridge at night, cast in the spotlight of a streetlamp, wearing a button-up and cuffed jeans, these shoes in his hand, slung over the shoulder with casual indifference. He modeled for the label at times. One of his various endeavors. Alex had figured he'd only have to wear the shoes for a day. How bad could it get, right?

He made his way to the door and winced. _Very bad._ No wonder Miles had carried them in his hand, not worn them on his feet!

Outside, Jamie stood. Dancing anxiously in front of a coat rack. “You're okay?” Alex prodded with a chuckle. “Nervous, maybe?”

“I'm ten minutes away from getting married. Of course, I'm fucking nervous. What if Katie won't show? What if she realizes she's too good for me? What if she gets lost on her way and—”

“Ends up marrying the wrong guy,” kidded Alex.

Jamie grabbed his tie and jerked hard. “Do you think that's funny?”

“Jesus Fucking Christ, chill!” He pushed him away. Laughed. Only to groan. “Oh, you fucking ruined the knot! Took me a damned hour to get it right.” He rushed to fix it but without a mirror, he was lost. “Move to the bloody ballroom, will ya? I'll meet you there in five. And take a deep breath. You make _me_ nervous and I'm not the one throwing my freedom away!”

Alex stepped back into the men’s room. Resumed his spot in front of the mirror. Hands went to work, untied the whole thing, and realigned the strands. Somebody else finished washing his hands and left. Then one entered.

“Alex?”

Alex let go of his tie. “Miles!” Lips flew into a smile before he could finish saying his name. They always did around him. Used to. Did again. “Haven't seen or heard from you in a week.” Not since the jaw-dropping kiss that had left him with a week of bone-melting fantasies and cold showers. Not to mention a lot of questions! Today, though, was not for that. Today was about being happy. “How are you?”

“Been better, I guess. I wanted to meet up with you. Swear…after how it ended…I didn't mean to bolt. I'm so sorry. There was…stuff kinda happened. Eh…”

“Yeah, listen, I know. We shouldn't have kissed.” And maybe he should sound more convincing. _Should_. Dreadful thing, that word. Alex turned back and fought with the tie. “Sorry 'bout that. If Daniel found out, blame it all on me.” He'd certainly try and pretend to feel bad for it if that bland doctor decided to call him out on it. But he knew and Miles knew that it was Miles who’d kissed him first, full of tenderness and conviction, and he'd only kissed him back! Fucking kissed him back good. He'd always have _that_.

“'bout him,” Miles started.

He didn't want to discuss Daniel right now. “Fuck.” The tie was playing coy. “Is it left over right or the other way around?” He’d knotted a million ties before. What was so hard about this one?

“Right and then…no wait, left first,” attempted Miles, only to roll his eyes. “Gimme that!” He stepped forward, taking over the knotting. “Can't explain it. It's a hands-on thing.”

“You've always been better explaining things with your hands than with words.” Eyes filled with humor as heat pooled in the small of his back when he remembered the first time Miles had dropped to his knees for him. Miles had been nervous about taking the next step, he'd told him, and because of that, he'd watched porn to learn how to do it right. The guy in the film had sucked somebody else off. Miles had told him it had looked easy enough, and he’d wanted to try. Alex, far from opposing such a generous offer, had leaned back and given him free rein.

Right, he'd done it. Funny, it'd been, too.

Alex put on a cheerful face to offset the seductive weight of the memory, let alone the heat from Miles’ proximity. “Lookin' good.” He wore a black suit as well. Tailored. Tight. “Terrific, to be honest.” His thumb brushed invisible lint away and he put up a fight against letting the urge to seek the refined lines of his abdomen devour him. “Handsome and winning.” Just as he’d done in the print in the window. “Sometimes the world just screams your name at me, do you know that?” It was the luxury store’s ad. Then his song on the radio this morning. A guy named Miles who’d sold him his cup of coffee last Wednesday. A _Gibson 335_ on sale at his favorite guitar store. A fan telling him she’d seen the pictures of him and Miles taken at the coffee shop a while back, which was the reason she’d decided to switch to the Starbucks near Alex’s place, even though it was ten minutes by tube from her place, which had one around the corner. “As though the world is trying to tell me something,” he mused, wondering why Miles wouldn’t meet his eyes. It couldn’t all be because of the selfish tie and the attention it required. Not even a small glimpse from below those delicate lashes?

“Alex…” Done with the tie, Miles let go but did it slowly, unwillingly. His right hand glided down the material, smoothing it out. “ _I_ have to tell you something.”

He held back, fisted his hands at his sides. His body was telling him to move, to attack, to kiss and conquer, to have what was right there! His head being the more rational one, disagreed. As always. “Tell me later.” If they didn't part soon, he'd forget the fucking wedding and lock the door instead. “We're so bloody late. Jamie's gonna flip!” Alex ducked his head, crouched to catch sight of Miles’ eyes, and winked. “Can’t miss the wedding of the century, right? How often did Jamie brag about staying single for life?” He grinned. “Lost count!” Then, he straightened back up. Made for the door.

Miles caught his arm. “Alex—”

How was a guy supposed to do the right thing if the object of his deepest desires made it so fucking difficult? _Screw it!_ decided Alex and kissed him. Hands against his cheeks, all but squishing his face and pushing his lips into a pucker, he smacked his mouth against his and did it right. One fat smooch. One to get him through the day. Hard and fast and quick and without tongue. If that one came out to join, he’d miss the whole damned ceremony! Probably the celebration, too. He separated from him and thieved himself a second to savor the flames kissing Miles had left in its wake before caressing his partner in crime's cheek with his thumb. “There's always tomorrow. Today, we party.”

Once more, Miles caught him and held him back. “What’s with you?” Alex shook his head, laughing, but had no moment to protest. In the blink of an eye, he was pulled into his arms and kissed with such verve that it not only catapulted him a step rearward but it also completely tossed him through in time! Suddenly he was back inside that old club in his hometown, on the night before Miles had left Sheffield. It felt as though he was literally there, fourteen years of passed time notwithstanding, acutely aware of the desperation in Miles’ kiss. The memory glowed back to life in his head, playing back in front of his eyes. And it was different. Familiar and new at once. He knew the kiss, he remembered it. However, its taste had changed, it was watered down by today’s wisdom. What he’d considered a passionate, fiery moment hadn’t been that at all. The kiss hadn’t been stoked by fire, but by panic. It had been foreboding. 

This time around, Alex knew the flavor. Could judge it properly. Hands to Miles’ shoulders, he pushed. “Miles!” Even the panted breaths mingling with his words couldn’t mask the concern in them. “Talk to me.”

“Not today.” Miles moved his head from side to side and flashed a smile that lacked all depth. “Tomorrow.” At long last, their eyes met. Alex had never seen anything this hopeless. “Let's meet? 'round noon? Starbucks?”

“If that’s what you want?” Time was ticking down. Alex sighed. “You sure you're okay?”

A nod. “Let's go.”

**#2003**

**#Miles**

“You're late,” admonished Penny when Alex and Miles barreled into the dining room. “For dinner. How is that even possible? You haven’t left your room in hours, even though it’s a sunny day. I figured you’d be out there in that stuffy garage of yours, making music. You’re not even playing music upstairs,” she noted with a chuckle, marveling at that. “You’re merely listening to it. To the horrid stuff, too. Alex, you know how I feel about those new singers, those gangsters and whatnot.”

“Sorry mom,” said Alex and rushed to his seat. Only to pause and frown. “What gangsters?” he asked Miles. “We heard…”

_Shit_ , thought Miles, trying to recall what they’d heard. He couldn’t remember. He’d been too swept up in Alex’s kisses. “Won't happen again, Misses Turner.” She’d told him to call her Penny, but she’d always be his teacher first. And now, the mother of the guy he was having a… _something…_ with. On the route to his seat, he nearly stumbled into Alex’s chair. His Alex. His best mate Alex. His pair of lips to kiss-Alex. The very Alex whose mouth he'd spent all afternoon making out with.

He caught his footing just in time.

Alex fought a grin. Snuck the tiniest wink his way.

Miles’ eyes darkened and he shot him a warning under his breath. “Stop it!”

Alex stuck out his tongue.

“Boys,” scolded Penny. “Behave. No games at the dinner table.”

They stopped. Miles found his seat next to Alex, who immediately grabbed his hand under the table.

Miles gritted his teeth. He’d love this, revel in it at any other moment, but here, in front of two very perceptive witnesses? Heat rose to his cheeks. “Yes, Alex. No games!”

Fingers entwined. “’s not a game.”

His heart hammered away like a mad thing.

“There’s lasagna on the table and you haven’t even looked at it.” David snickered as he looked at his son. “Should we be worried?”

Alex pulled his hand free and dug in. “No!” He lobbed a big piece onto his plate, brought most of it onto his fork, and swallowed loudly, scarcely pausing to chew. Then he reloaded. “Oh, mom, thif if infane! Fo gooth!”

Penny sat down, at a loss judging by her baffled look. “Well, uh, thanks, son.” She resigned. “Alex, slow down. We got time!”

“I thought dinner would never end,” lamented Alex as he slammed the door shut with one hand while reaching for Miles with the other one. “Come’ere! Kiss me.”

And Miles did. Alex was flush against the door, Miles hard against him. Hands slipped straight beneath the shirt, to the hot skin he craved to touch. To those jutted bones of his hip. To the v that ran and hid inside his jeans. Miles couldn’t get enough of him. Alex was the best guitar in the world and his to play with. He’d rather lose both hands than stop. And the sounds he made…those mewling little moans that he let out – they crawled into Miles’ ear, gripped his desire, and stoked it.

Alex flipped them around, fisted the hem of Miles’ tee, and pulled. “Take it off.”

Miles hesitated. “Do you…want…with your parents…”

Cheeks flushed crimson. “Eh…” Alex’s head fell forward as he cast his eyes down, shy as they suddenly were.

And just like that, everything Miles felt for him, he now felt twice as strong. Leaning in, forehead to forehead with him, Miles ran his thumbs along the sides of his body beneath the shirt and smiled. He wanted him to know there was no reason to blush, not around him. Between them, there would never be a reason to do that. And it was then that it occurred to him how often he blushed.

Alex dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, a move Miles felt in every crevice and nook of his body. “Actually…just want the shirt gone. Uh, I kinda, like…want to…but…’m not sure I know how…”

“Yeah,” confessed Miles. “Me neither.” He let go and carefully removed his shirt. Having Alex follow his every movement turned his throat dry and his voice gruff. “We go slow?”

Fingertips settled against his stomach. Miles gasped. “Very slow,” promised Alex. Skimmed his nose against Miles’. Kissed him again. “Very, very slow.”

His head rolled back as Alex necked his way from his lips to his throat, to his shoulder, which he nipped, sending bolts of electricity everywhere at once. Fingers resumed their hold on his hair. Eyes drifted close. A hand slid around his waist to his back, down to his ass. “Fuuucck…” he groaned and wondered if going slow might not be the biggest mistake of his life. If Alex kept going like that, he wouldn’t last much longer!

**#2018**

**#Alex**

Of course, Daniel was there. Next to him. He was his boyfriend. His partner. His _plus one_. Alex finished the glass of champagne in one take and put it back down, swallowing not only bad liquor but also a well-considered and nasty remark.

“Thought you hate champagne,” Matt commented from across the table.

Alex didn’t like the grin on his drummer’s face. The amusement at his expense. “So?” He’d have happily gone for something stronger. But it was Jamie and Katie’s wedding and he’d be a good friend. Not a drunken embarrassment. “At least he’s wearing a suit and not some fucking cargo pants.”

“Who is?”

Alex blinked. “Uh, _Doc Cargo_?”

A bark of laughter. “ _Doc Perignon_ , _Doc Cargo_ , what’s next? _Doc Ugg_?”

“If the shoe fits?” He had some other names as well. Some not-so-nice ones.

“I love it when you’re jealous. You’re like my own personal sitcom, then. Glowering and cussing and acting pouty!”

“Pouty?” Alex took offense. “’m not fucking pouty!” He wasn’t jealous, either! He was… _something_. Most of all, he was annoyed. At himself, At his own conflicting emotions! “I don’t want Miles back! I mean…he’s with Daniel. Obviously. It’d be ridiculous if I were to be jealous. We’re…it’s over. You said it,” he clipped back. “The other night. Miles is in a committed relationship. I should remember that.”

“That kiss the other night could have fooled me. Or the fact that you called him _yours._ ”

“That was…” He tore his sight away from the couple. “We were drunk.”

“You were one phone call away from screwing,” corrected Matt, bloody enjoying himself.

“Drunk,” repeated Alex with attitude. It had been the fucking song! The memories, the tight shirt Miles had worn, the last weeks of catching up, of reminiscing, of—

“You’re fucking in love with him!”

Alex snapped his eyes to his drummer and sure as hell hoped Matt got the warning in there. “Am. Not. He broke my heart!” When he was sober, it was much easier to remain conscious of that.

“Yes,” drawled Matt. “People fuck up sometimes. Oh, come on, Alex. You can’t even look at ‘em!”

“You’re the one who said I should remember his boyfriend. Here I am, doing exactly that!”

“I told you to make up your mind and not fuck around! Fucking tell him. It’s Miles. Your soulmate. The only one who knows how to love you right. Bunch of people tried and failed big.”

“He’s got a fucking boyfriend,” hissed Alex across the table, trying to contain his ire. What was so bloody complicated about this fucking mess for Matt to get it? Miles wasn’t single. Miles had hurt him. Miles was—

Looking at him.

With those big, brown eyes that looked like a glass of cognac on a cold, winter night in front of a fireplace inside a cabin in the woods, when you wore warm socks and were curled up on a blanket, nestled into a bunch of pillows, breathing in your love’s scent as you held him. Alex got up, ignored Matt’s whistle, and walked over.

“Miles,” he said, giving a curt nod. “Daniel. How kind of you to join the wedding of my close friend and his life’s one true love. What a beautiful ceremony, right? Makes you reconsider if marriage really is the worst thing in the world.”

Daniel, as usual, skipping politeness in exchange for a terse response, wondered, “You don’t believe in weddings?”

“I believe in love.” Eyes snuck a peek at Miles. “A wedding band’s not gonna make anything better. If two people are meant to be, they’ll end up together. The rest doesn’t matter.” Forcing his lips into a polite smile, not letting them grow into the smug gigawatt smirk he so desperately wanted to unleash, he extended his hand with confidence. “Miles, I was wondering if you’d like to have this dance with me.” Upon the sight of Daniel’s dropping jaw, he quickly amended that, “it’s just a friendly dance.” He bit his tongue from adding he’d not hold him like he’d done the other night. “I’ll keep my foot of distance and I promise to return him unharmed. And un-kissed,” he joked. Partially.

Daniel’s hand shot out to Miles, who seemed anxious and troubled, much like he’d done earlier in the men’s room. “I’d rather not—”

Miles gave his hand a quick pat. “What’s a dance, right? Be right back.” He got up, slipped his fingers into Alex’s open hand, and followed him past the tables to the dance floor, straightening out his blazer as he did. “You got some balls, asking for a dance like that,” he uttered under his breath. “I gotta hand it to you.”

Finally, the smirk broke free. “You know my balls.” Swiftly, he spun around, held up his free hand, and waited. “I lead.”

Miles took a step forward, curved his arm around Alex’s middle, and countered with a dazzling grin, the first trace of happiness he’d seen on his face all day. “No.” Then hauled.

Alex, seized against Miles’ body and now his willing captive, chuckled impressed. “Let the imaginary record show, _I_ wanted to stay at a distance. _You_ yanked _me_ into your arms. Not that I mind. Just sayin’. Your _plus-one_ looks quite…” Upset, angry, close to exploding. “Miffed.”

“Forget about him for a moment.” The grin slid away. “Earlier…”

“When you kissed me like there was no tomorrow,” winged Alex back.

“Then,” sighed Miles. And just as he’d been at the table, and after the kiss, he became sad.

No longer conscious about onlookers, Matt’s glee in the distance, or Daniel’s barely muted anger, Alex gave Miles’ hand a reassuring squeeze, sinking further into his arms. “You have to talk to me, Miles. Did something happen?”

“Yes. No. I mean…yes. The morning after the bachelor party…it’s fucked up. All of it,” he vented in frustration.

“Hey,” soothed Alex, slipping his arm from his shoulder around his neck to bring him closer. His thumb ran back and forth over Miles’ nape as he kept his ceaseless grip on his eyes. “You can tell me.”

“Daniel,” said Miles, “asked me to—”

“Would you mind taking your hands off my fiancé?”

“I put my hands where—” Alex froze. His insides became cold. Stiff. His chest constricted. “Fiancé?”

Daniel towed on Miles’ arm. “Getting married soon.”

“No, not—” protested Miles.

Alex cut him off, dodged his pleading expression, and took a large step back. Switching to survival mode, turning all feelings off, he shook his head. “Go do that, then.”

“Alex…”

“No.”

**#Miles**

“Why are you so angry about it? He would have found out at some point and I don’t feel bad for telling him after I watched him run his fucking hands all over you! You’re my boyfriend. Fiancé,” corrected Daniel as he slammed the door to the apartment shut from the inside. “Who is Alex Turner to just walk up to our table and decide he wants to dance with you? And why did you even go with him, huh? Did it cross your mind for just one second what that looked like to everybody else? How would you have felt if I had danced with my ex, huh? I’m your fiancé!”

Miles threw his jacket away and tore on his tie, needing some outlet for his anger. “Go fucking dance with him,” he snapped. “I told you I didn’t want anyone to find out today. It was Katie and Jamie’s day, but you just couldn’t keep it inside, could you? Not for a single fucking day!”

“I’ve kept it to myself for a whole damn week now and I wish you felt as strongly about our engagement as I do! Because it’s the sort of thing you want to shout from rooftops and announce to the whole world. Instead, you go and dance with your fucking ex, Miles. I don’t like that he’s constantly prowling around you. You and Alex are done, and you belong with me! Somebody ought to tell him that! Maybe you should.”

“Alex knows it. Nobody needs to tell him! And I told you not for the fucking first time that I’m my own person and not yours.”

Daniel mumbled under his breath.

Miles cursed silently. “What’s that?!”

“I said I don’t think he knows. He sure acts as if he wants you back! Always giving you looks and making those fucking little comments and all that shit!”

“Rest assured,” griped Miles, more livid at himself than at Daniel, “I fucked up real good.” Then and now. “Alex doesn’t want me back.”

Daniel let go of his shoelace in the midst of untying it. “Know what I would have liked to hear right now? That you don’t care how he looks at you because you don’t want him back!”

“I’m going to bed, now. We should stop talking. Feel like one of us is about to say something he can’t take back!” With that, he kicked his shoes off and turned for the bedroom.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” barked Daniel.

“See if I care,” muttered Miles.

.

.

** Spoiler Chapter 15: **

#

“That wasn’t the point, you idiot. Go and bloody tell Miles how you feel!”

“How am I supposed to do that?” wondered Alex in all honesty and yet with plenty of irritation, leaning against the counter as he watched Jamie drink his water. The act was far more attractive when Miles did it. “Can’t just go and knock on his door and be like, _hey Miles, just dropped by to say I love you_.”

“Why not?”

#

“You can always change your mind,” his dad insisted. “Even if you think it’s too late, believe me, it’s not.”

“What’s waiting for me if I do?” He banished the grief over his life’s choices from his face and smiled. “Daniel is kind and understanding and sweet and loving.”

#


End file.
